


Try Me Once More

by Mackaley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Breast Fucking, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Angst, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Epistolary, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Historical, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Married Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Married Sex, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley
Summary: “Actually, can you do me a favor? No tempting. No sins. Just a way for us to spend some time together while I finish what I need to do.”Aziraphale considered it and then nodded. “Well, I don’t see why not.”“Can you pretend to be my wife?”-----Or, 9 Times They Get Married + 2 Times It Was Actually Real.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 506
Kudos: 1016





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my “Marriage Through the Ages” fic, a basic idea I had that got wildly out of hand and two months later, here we are. This entire thing is written, so there won’t be any delays in chapter updates. I’ll be posting every other day to give myself some time to respond to comments and such. Explicit rating will start in chapter 5. It’s a firm T until then. 
> 
> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, [Kazeetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazeetie/pseuds/Kazeetie), who edited this thing even while fighting off a monster flu and cold. Kaz, you made this fic better. Thank you, love you!
> 
> Title is from Mika’s “No Place in Heaven” which, uh, is a Good Omens song (you should also listen to Mika's "I Went to Hell Last Night”. Mika’s got a lot of GO songs).

**67**

The Olympic Games had certainly become more of a spectacle since the last time he had attended. Multi-colored tents and stalls emanated mouth-watering aromas of spiced lamb, honey, and wine. A bustling crowd moved in throngs from stall to stall, buying wares and food by the armful.

Aziraphale leaned against a tent pole, savoring the sun’s warmth on his skin as he scanned the open marketplace, deciding what to eat before he made his way to the next event. He glimpsed a flash of red among the crowd and did a double take. He could tell Crowley spotted him at the same time; the demon grinned and waved his arm high over his head. 

A matching smile bloomed over his own face as he waved back. He watched as Crowley turned back towards the two men he was speaking to and said a couple words before waving them off. Aziraphale waited as Crowley made his way through the crowd to him. 

It had only been a quarter century since they had oysters in Rome, but Aziraphale had thought about him nearly every day since. It wasn’t hard to find good company among humans, but there was a singular relief he felt while spending time with Crowley. Someone else who was aware of a greater Plan (however ineffable it was). The demon had always been friendly as well, and he looked forward to their interactions, however long or brief. He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d started considering Crowley a friend and hoped Crowley felt the same way. 

A wave of warmth overcame him as Crowley finally made his way to stand in front of him. He wondered idly if a cloud had moved.

“Aziraphale! Nice to see you here.” 

Aziraphale’s smile widened. “Hello, Crowley. Yes, it’s lovely seeing you. Are you here for the Games? Lots of opportunities for temptation, I would imagine.”

Crowley’s lips twitched in amusement and then he affected a look of confusion. “Oh, are these the Olympics? I was wondering why there were thousands of people congregated here.” Aziraphale scowled. “Yes, I’m here for the Games. Well, not really for everyone here.” He waved his hand noncommittally towards the crowds behind him. “Nero’s competing this year, I’m sure you’ve heard. Just convincing the judges to let him win everything. Spread further dissent about his reign. Y’know. Typical work stuff. But what are you doing here? Business or pleasure?”

“Oh, pleasure. I just finished blessing a few crop fields and I figured it had been a couple hundred years since I last attended. I was just deciding what to eat when I saw you. Would you--would you like to grab something to eat and attend the next event together? It’s been so long since we’ve caught up.”

Crowley’s expression was inscrutable behind his dark glasses. “It’s only been twenty-six years, angel. We’ve gone a lot longer than that.”

Aziraphale flushed with embarrassment and his heart sank. Right, of course. Crowley was just being friendly towards him, a necessity (he supposed) when one encountered the only other immortal being permanently stationed on Earth. He probably didn’t want to spend every time they encountered each other with Aziraphale. 

“Oh, of course, dear. I’m sorry. You probably have a lot of work to do and I’m keeping you from that--”

“No,” Crowley interrupted quickly. “No, I want to--we should catch up.” He looked over his shoulder back where his acquaintances were before facing Aziraphale again, his expression unsure. “I _do_ have some things to do, but.” He took a sharp breath. “Actually, can you do me a favor?”

Aziraphale hesitated. Doing favors for a demon was almost definitely frowned upon. But doing favors for a friend, well. That was probably okay.

“Well, I’d have to ask what the favor is, of course. I can’t… _tempt_ people into anything, you know that.”

Crowley smiled. “Tempted me into oysters a couple decades ago.” Aziraphale huffed.

“Oh, you know that’s not the same.”

“No tempting. No sins. Just a way for us to spend some time together while I finish what I need to do.”

He considered it and then nodded. “Well, I don’t see why not.”

“Can you pretend to be my wife?”

His eyes went wide and his body tensed. “Your--whatever for? How--?”

“Like I said - it’ll give us an excuse to spend the day together while I still get my work done. I’m just asking you to not interfere - that’s the favor. Those men earlier, they’re Senators I’ve been influencing against Nero, and it might ruin the delicate work I’ve been doing if I bring Aziraphale My Friend, but if I bring Aziraphale My Wife, I think it’ll go over better. They probably won’t pay much attention to you so you won’t have to talk to them.” He frowned. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I’ll just say you’re in town to see the Games and then you have to go back to your ailing father or something. It’ll just be while I’m with them. I’ll owe you one.”

Aziraphale glanced down at his feet to hide a small smile. _Aziraphale My Friend_.

The excuse seemed flimsy at best, but, well. He hadn’t seen him in _twenty-six years_. Oh, and he had so many things he wanted to tell Crowley. It would be a shame not to catch up. 

He looked back up. Crowley looked ever-unaffected, but as soon as he nodded, relief flooded Crowley’s face. Warmth flooded Aziraphale, but he pushed that aside.

“Sounds sensible. But I’ll need to change.”

“I’ll make sure no one sees.” 

Aziraphale stepped behind the tent and waved his hand over his body. He held his hand out to steady himself at the sudden weight of his breasts. His pale blonde curls grew and tumbled over his shoulders. He waved again and a jeweled headband pinned the hair back from his face. His cream-colored toga turned into a pale blue stola and he looked over himself, satisfied.

He walked back from behind the tent and Crowley couldn’t hide his smile when he saw him. The demon looked him over, eyes skirting along his headband, at the curls pooled at his shoulders. He swallowed when Crowley lingered for just a half-second too long at his breasts and then drifted down the rest of his body. 

Crowley’s eyes returned to his and he smiled again. “You look nice, angel.” Aziraphale let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding at Crowley’s approval. Crowley held out his arm and Aziraphale took it gladly. They strolled back into the crowds.

“So what are you hungry for?”

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “Nothing too heavy, I think. Just something to nibble. Maybe some olives--”

Crowley made a disgusted noise. “The only time adding olives is an improvement is adding them to the bin.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Well, _you_ don’t have to eat them, Crowley.”

They loaded up on olives, fruit, honey, bread, and wine before making their way to the wrestling arena where Crowley met up with his acquaintances. They seemed surprised when Crowley produced a wife that had previously gone unmentioned, but they greeted Aziraphale kindly. 

“She’s lovely, Crowley. Are you sure she’s not the one with the eye condition? It’s the only explanation for why she’s with you.” 

Crowley barked. “Trust me, she knows she’s too good for me.” He flashed a smile at Aziraphale and he smiled back.

Crowley turned back to the Senators as they discussed whatever nefarious plans the demon was enacting and Aziraphale watched the wrestling matches, happily drizzling his bread with honey and chasing it down with wine. 

If Aziraphale was good at anything, it was compartmentalizing. 

Walking through his mind was like walking through rows and rows of neatly stacked boxes. Boxes labeled things like “sacred duties”, “God”, and “Heaven”. These were fairly straightforward. Further down in another row were boxes that appeared the longer he lived on Earth. Things like “Indulgences - Food” and “Swimming” and a lot of boxes dedicated to the best and worst things humanity had come up with themselves. 

Keeping the lids on the boxes was key. Once a box was closed, it didn’t open again until he wanted it to, until he was ready to sort through the contents and decide whether they needed revisiting or recategorization. If they were in the box, if the lid was closed, he didn’t need to think about the things that made him feel uneasy. For example, questions about the Plan were put into “Ineffable Plan - Questions (Unsavory)” and not looked at again. They _were not_ looked at again, he would remind himself sternly.

It helped him set clear and established boundaries for how to move throughout his life. If he needed to revisit them he did and would move forward from there. A constant shuffle of things sorted into acceptable and unacceptable categories to dictate the behavior he felt comfortable with.

He had realized once that he maybe used his extensive categorization and compartmentalization to excuse some less-than-angelic behaviors, to allow some (un)healthy denial. But then he stuffed that realization in a box labeled “Character Traits - Unfavorable“ and decided not to look at it again. 

As Crowley spoke with his associates, Aziraphale mulled over “Purposefully letting a demon tempt and influence humans just to spend time with a friend (who, coincidentally, was the same demon)”, weighed it in his mind, sorted through his moral issues, through the boxes, for a place to put it. 

Crowley’s box was originally labeled neatly “Crawly”. Then “Crawly, adversary” which didn’t last long. It didn’t fit, given his general disposition towards Aziraphale. Then it was “Crawly, associate” and then “Crowley” and now “Crowley, friend”. It was an unruly box, one that kept growing and that he revisited more frequently than he probably should. He still had a tight hold on the lid, though.

As he cheered and clapped for a wrestler who bested his opponent, what he ultimately decided was this: Crowley’s machinations were clearly in their late stages. Aziraphale could hardly stop anything now without some serious unauthorized miraculous intervention. He’d had orders, years ago, to make himself known in Nero’s life, but he was pulled off that assignment almost immediately. Obviously Nero wasn’t important to Heaven, so he shouldn’t be important to Aziraphale. So turning a blind eye to the demon beside him couldn’t possibly be a mark against him.

Besides, it was a nice day and the wine was good.

He filed the decision appropriately and took another bite of honeyed bread. 

He was so stuck in his reverie that he jumped when he felt Crowley’s hand hover over his lower back as he leaned in close to whisper. He shivered, probably from the gust of wind that blew through the stadium. 

“It’s really lucky that we didn’t actually get married.” Crowley’s breath tickled the hair at his ear. “It’s a tradition for the groom to break a wheat cake over the bride’s head. Supposed to be a symbol of fertility. I once saw a swarm of birds swoop down on a woman’s head after it happened.”

Aziraphale let out a short burst of laughter. “Yes, good thing. I don’t particularly fancy crumbs in my hair.” 

Crowley laughed. “You’re very fussy, angel. So what have you been up to this past quarter of a century?”

“Don’t you need to finish up with your friends? I’m really okay watching for now. I wouldn’t want to interfere--well, I guess I _should_ want to interfere with whatever you’re doing, but we had an agreement.”

“Nah. There’s only so much I can push at once. I think Nero winning every event he competes in will do more damage than anything I can say to these two right now. Besides--” Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s knee and then pulled back almost immediately. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale’s stomach flipped. _That was new_. They’d touched occasionally - he’d taken Crowley’s arm just earlier that day - but this had no audience, no purpose beyond just a friendly touch. Surely that was okay. People touched. They could touch. Besides, he was pretending to Crowley’s _wife_ so in order to _keep up appearances_...

He swallowed thickly and took Crowley’s hand in his own and settled them both on top of his knee. Crowley’s mouth fell open slightly and he looked at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses, amber eyes finally visible to the angel. 

“You don’t have--that is. We’re supposed to be married. So. It’s okay if you want to--if you want to--to touch.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand to assure him that he didn’t mind. 

Crowley gave him a small smile and squeezed back. “So, blessing crops. Anything else exciting? Any new restaurants?”

They spent the next couple of hours catching up and commenting on the athletic performances in the arena. About an hour in, Crowley’s acquaintances bid him farewell and Aziraphale considered that he could probably switch back to his usual corporation, but then he and Crowley wouldn’t be holding hands and he decided against it. 

It felt _nice_ to be physical with someone for so long. Aziraphale would offer hugs or a pat on the arm when someone needed a bit of comfort, but it happened so infrequently that it hardly counted. Just _touching_ , as simple as it was, lessened an ache he hadn’t realized was weighing on him.

Crowley’s thumb started running along his own at some point and they both decided not to call attention to it or the other casual touches they shared throughout the afternoon, not even when Aziraphale brushed a stray curl away from Crowley’s forehead and his fingers ghosted along his temple, his cheekbones. 

The events finished and they walked around the marketplace arm in arm. Crowley bought them both dinner and dessert and they continued to laugh and talk into the evening. When vendors started to pack up their stalls and the marketplace closed, Crowley looked around and drummed his fingers on the table where they sat.

“Don’t suppose you’d like to come back to mine for a little bit? I have some wine we could get through.”

Aziraphale would like to. He wanted nothing more than to continue his day with Crowley. But he looked around and realized how late it had gotten, how spending time with Crowley in one of their residences definitely counted as something Else than everything they had done before. Something that would cross a firmly established boundary they’d set for themselves. He shook his head and gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Best not. I really should be heading back. Oh, but I had a wonderful time today. Thank you again for dinner.”

Crowley waved his hand. “Don’t thank me.” They both got up and stood awkwardly, unsure of themselves, suddenly thrust back into the reality of their stations. Crowley finally extended his hand and Aziraphale shook it.

“Well, good night, angel. See you next time. And--I owe you one.” 

“Good night, Crowley. I’ll be sure to take you up on it.”

Crowley walked away and Aziraphale watched after him for a moment before turning and walking back to his own home.


	2. Chapter 2

**167**

Crowley was waiting for Aziraphale. His whole life, if he were being honest, but more specifically: outside a Roman Senate building nearly one hundred years to the day after they had last seen each other.

It was ridiculous, thinking about their last encounter every day of the past century. But he could never forget the feeling of the angel’s soft hand grasping his, of his knee’s curve under his thumb, Aziraphale’s hand coming up to brush his hair aside and then _lingering_ at the sharp edges of his face. The scent of honey faintly on the angel’s lips was a feature in many late night fantasies, biting his lip so he didn’t let Aziraphale’s name slip through as he came in his hand.

He scowled at the heat stirring in his gut and tamped his arousal down. He felt like a teenager: horny, desperate, and utterly smitten with someone he could never have. 

That hadn’t stopped him from stationing himself outside the Senate every day of the past week after he had caught a brief glimpse of Aziraphale walking up the steps to the building before he had been swept away by several people asking for his counsel. 

He would wait for hours, days, months, just to run into Aziraphale again. Luckily he only had to wait twenty-three minutes.

Aziraphale walked into the square, a shining beacon of holiness as his white blonde hair caught the morning light. Crowley’s breath caught in his chest and he took a moment to really let himself look at Aziraphale in the way he only could before Aziraphale realized he was there. He studied his large, distinct nose, the laugh lines around his cheeks and eyes, his thick fingers and rounded shoulders. 

He was really an idiot, falling in love with an angel.

He pushed off the column he was propped up against and walked towards Aziraphale. He leaned in close.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale started and spun around to face him. The angel’s eyes crinkled in joy at seeing him and if Aziraphale would just look at him like that every time they met, that would be enough. It would be enough.

“Crowley! I didn’t know you were in the region! How _are_ you? Have you been here long? I know the last time we spoke you said you were heading to China soon. That must’ve been wonderful to see. I’ve been longing to pop over and try the cuisine - it sounds _exquisite_.” 

Crowley let him babble and only allowed the smallest of smiles to grace his lips. His lovely, effusive angel. Aziraphale suddenly realized he had been prattling on and flushed.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. It doesn’t help to ask you question after question and not let you answer.”

“I’m doing well. I’ve been all around China in most of the past century - I got back to the Roman Empire about fifteen years ago. You would love the food - they have these little breads that they stuff with meat and bean paste. How about you? Have you been able to leave the Empire at all?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Not much, unfortunately. I spent a couple years in South America, but then I was brought right back here. There’s just so much _happening_ so _quickly_ in Rome at the moment. It’s hard to get away.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, I’m supposed to be here for awhile. A lot of knowledge to disseminate. I’ve spent some time with Ptolemy, giving him knowledge of _the heavens_.” He said it in a mocking tone.

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “Doesn’t he think the cosmos revolves the Earth?” 

Crowley waved his hand noncommittally. “Ehhh. Can’t give them everything.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes darted over Crowley’s shoulder and went wide in panic. Crowley yelped as Aziraphale pulled him quickly behind a pillar and crowded close to hide as well. Crowley’s own worry at whether another angel or demon had suddenly arrived dissipated as soon as he felt Aziraphale’s warm body pressing him against the cold marble. He bit back a groan as Aziraphale pressed closer to peer around the pillar and then darted back behind it. The angel seemed to realize their positions and stepped back quickly, his ears tinged pink.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Crowley.” 

“‘S all right. We okay?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. No one from our sides. It’s just.” He grumbled and worried at his hands in frustration. “There’s this _woman_ around Aurelius’ court - that’s where I’ve been. Providing counsel to Aurelius--”

“Isn’t he persecuting Christians every chance he gets?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. I don’t want to talk about it. But this woman has taken a… a _liking_ to me and she’s. _Insatiable_.”

Crowley laughed. “You’re hiding from a suitor, then?”

“I don’t want to be--to be suited! Not from--” He frowned again before his eyes lit up. “Oh, Crowley. I believe you still owe me a favor, from Olympia.”

“Mm, I do. Need me to tempt her away from you?”

Aziraphale paused. “Oh. I suppose that works too.” He bit his lip and Crowley wanted to lean forward and sink his teeth in instead, lick his tongue along the marks he’d make to soothe the pain away. “But no, I can’t ask you to encourage _sin_. I actually just thought--well, the nature of it is rather amusing given--”

“Angel.”

“Yes, sorry. There’s a party that Aurelius is throwing tonight and she’ll be there as well. If you--if you _accompanied_ me as. As my _wife_ , well, she would leave me alone.” Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes and he gripped his hands in front of him, twisting the ring around his pinky.

Well. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Surely there were a hundred different ways to solve this problem that didn’t involve them pretending to be _married. Again_. 

He thought of Aziraphale’s arm in his, the touches they felt permitted to share last time. He wanted. He _wanted_.

“Won’t they question where this mystery wife came from?” Aziraphale looked at him.

“They didn’t last time,” he pointed out. Crowley shrugged, conceding the point. “We can use the same excuse - you’re caring for an ailing family member far away.” 

“Yeah, all right. So should I meet you there or…?”

“No, stop by my residence later. Just before sundown. We can take a nice stroll - the weather has been lovely in the evening.” 

Aziraphale gave him his address and then bade him farewell with a small wave and a demure smile. Crowley watched him and counted to ten before walking out of the plaza.

He walked aimlessly around the city for a couple hours, just trying to busy himself until he had to get ready. He knew that Aziraphale seeking his company beyond a situation of circumstance was already a huge jump in their relationship. When he had invited him for oysters all those years ago, he was thrilled and a little touched that they had spent so much time together. And then again at the Olympics: no endgame to their conversations or time besides the company. 

_Stop questioning it_. Aziraphale wanted to spend the evening with him, wanted to pretend to be married. He had always figured the last time was a fluke and he wouldn’t ever get that close to the angel again. He should be _grateful_ for whatever logic leaps Aziraphale wanted to make to justify their friendship.

He made his way back to his own lodgings and dilly-dallied, conjuring a large mirror and trying on a truly embarrassing number of outfits. He was spending entirely too much time on it, but he wanted to make Aziraphale proud. He wanted this woman, everyone at that party, the whole world to know that he belonged to Aziraphale. And sometimes, it felt, that Aziraphale belonged to him too. 

He finally settled on something wine red, his long waves tumbling to his mid-back, and delicate golden snakes coiled around his wrists and fingers. He spent too long lining his eyes with kohl when no one would see them, but Aziraphale might. And he wanted to be pretty for Aziraphale. 

He finished fussing with his hair, added a few drops of honeysuckle essence under his ears, and left his abode. As he made his way through the streets and approached the angel’s residence, he felt butterflies in his stomach. _This isn’t a date and you’re an idiot. For Hell’s sake, get it together._

He knocked on the door and Aziraphale opened it almost immediately. The angel smiled broadly and looked Crowley over slowly. Crowley’s skin suddenly felt warm at the attention and he shivered in the cool night air.

“Oh, Crowley. You’re absolutely lovely.”

“Yeah, thanks.” _Lovely for you, only for you._ “Should I come in?”

Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley’s disappointment was short-lived when Aziraphale offered him his arm. He took it gratefully and they made their way to the party. If Aziraphale asked why he was clinging so tightly, he could say that he was cold (it wasn’t a lie), but he never asked. In fact, he seemed to welcome it when Crowley moved closer to him.

As they entered the party, Aziraphale slipped his arm around Crowley’s waist and Crowley felt like he might vibrate out of his skin. The angel’s hand, broad and warm, curled almost _possessively_ on his hip and Crowley was suddenly grateful he had manifested a vulva for this evening. 

Aziraphale kept his arm around him as he introduced his wife to his friends and colleagues. They all seemed shocked by Crowley’s existence, but quickly accepted it in stride. They made their way around the room and Aziraphale’s grip on his waist suddenly tightened. Crowley looked around and spotted a woman with dark brown hair dressed in lilac across the room gawking at them. The same woman he saw a glimpse of earlier that day. She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly and it reminded Crowley so much of a fish that he had to cover his mouth to stop from openly laughing. 

“Shh, be nice!” Aziraphale scolded, swatting him on the arm, but Aziraphale couldn’t stop giggling either.

“Demon,” Crowley whispered back and turned back to try to collect himself. Aziraphale tutted and swept them towards the wine.

After several glasses and even more boring conversations, Crowley froze as he felt Aziraphale playing with the ends of his curls. He glanced to the side to see if Aziraphale was doing this _utter teasing_ intentionally. The angel had a distant stare on his face as he nodded absentmindedly at some man talking about something or other. So, right, not on purpose. 

That didn’t stop Crowley’s eyes from fluttering shut as Aziraphale’s knuckles ran up and down his back with his ministrations. He bit back a whimper as Aziraphale tugged gently at the ends and let the curls bounce back. Bolts of electricity radiated throughout his body and he felt his stomach muscles contract. He squeezed his thighs together and groaned internally at how wet he was. He didn’t dare move further in case Aziraphale realized what he was doing and stopped.

After several minutes of wondering whether he was actually going to come from just this and how pathetically desperate that made him, Aziraphale stopped and laid a hand on his arm. He breathed sharply through his nose and opened his eyes. Aziraphale looked at him with concern. 

“Are you all right, Crowley?”

Crowley nodded and then swallowed. When did his throat get so dry? “Fine, angel. Just a little too much wine.”

He could tell Aziraphale didn’t believe him, but he patted his arm sympathetically anyway. “Let’s leave. I’m terribly bored anyway.”

They made their way towards the exit and Crowley made sure to grin and wave at the woman in lilac on their way out. She looked murderous and Crowley cackled while Aziraphale tried to cover his own snorts with his hand.

They walked back in companionable silence, Crowley now grateful for the cool air on his overheated skin. They didn’t need to be walking so close, but Aziraphale seemed reluctant to let him go. Crowley, in a moment of boldness ( _madness_ ), wrapped his arm around Aziraphale as well. He glanced over and the small smile on the angel's face pulled at his heart.

 _This isn't real_ , he reminded himself sternly. 

They arrived back and they stood, awkwardly, as they had at the end of the last day they spent together. Aziraphale's hand still held onto Crowley’s as they stood and looked at each other. And looked at each other. And looked at each other. Crowley cleared his throat and removed his sunglasses. Aziraphale uttered a soft gasp. 

“Oh Crowley, you're beautiful.” Aziraphale flushed and then sputtered. “Your eyes. Your eyes are bea--the makeup you've done. It brings out your--your eyes.”

Crowley laughed to hide how he felt suddenly and desperately alive under Aziraphale's praise. “Yeah, that other woman didn't stand a chance. I mean, look at me.”

Aziraphale did. Crowley felt like running. 

“Well! I should be off. Good night, angel. See you next time.” He ducked in and kissed Aziraphale at the corner of his mouth and then quickly walked away. 

_What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was THAT._

Before he turned a corner, he glanced behind him and saw Aziraphale still standing outside his door, his hand touching his mouth where Crowley had kissed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Arrangement starts in the 11th century, but oh well. The only non canon-compliant date in this whole thing.

**740**

What ultimately changed his mind was: he _missed_ Crowley. 

It started in earnest the night Crowley kissed him. He hadn’t expected it. And, well, it wasn’t a _proper_ kiss. Not like the ones he’d been thinking about (and promptly shoving in a box to _not think about_ ) since then whenever he was lonely. An overly-friendly goodbye. That was all it was.

He still couldn’t smell honeysuckle without feeling dizzy.

And then Crowley had proposed an arrangement in Wessex. He was rude and too defensive and had sought Crowley out the following week to apologize. Crowley had waved it off, said there wasn’t anything to apologize for. He invited Aziraphale back to his tent and they drank and laughed and late in the night, later than they’d ever been in each other’s company before, Crowley brought it up again. 

Aziraphale didn’t storm off, but he shut it down quickly. Crowley graciously backed off. Crowley was always too gracious with him. He knew he probably wasn’t as good of a friend to Crowley as Crowley was to him. 

They’d seen each other an unprecedented seven more times since then. Each time Crowley asked. Each time Aziraphale said no.

As the centuries passed, Aziraphale left every meeting with Crowley mulling over the options the demon had proposed. He carefully sorted through his boxes, through other moral decisions and justifications and excuses he’d made in the past to find any precedent to accept. 

He thought about Olympia, the only other time he’d truly made a concession to Crowley’s demonic activities without much fuss. He’d understood then that there was really no _point_ to working hard to thwart Crowley. And now they were stationed in the same locations frequently enough that it seemed to fall along the same lines. He had considered briefly just asking Crowley to stop what _he_ was doing, but that wasn’t fair. Crowley had a job to do, the same as him.

At a certain point, he’d had to just admit that Crowley was right (he could see the demon’s self-satisfied smirk as soon as he’d reached the conclusion and he’d rolled his eyes affectionately).

So yes, he’d worked through the inherent _moral_ issues with what Crowley proposed. He then had to contend with his own feelings about lying to Heaven. He’d worried over those for nearly a century until his latest trip Upstairs where it was made apparent that Gabriel almost never read his reports and really didn’t seem to care for his company in the first place. (His feelings were hurt, but that wasn’t fair for him to feel. Another box closed). 

So that took care of that. As long as they were _careful_ , there really wasn’t any harm in accepting what Crowley offered. Not as long as he was sure the outcome would be the same. He would work through the logistics and his feelings about performing temptations when the time came. A small relief came from knowing that if he ever refused a particular assignment, Crowley wouldn’t hold it against him.

And then there was the matter of spending time with Crowley. They’d seen each other so often, much more so than usual, and Aziraphale was loath to relinquish that frequency. He’d gotten used to Crowley’s presence in his life. To his laughter, his philosophy, the way he could rant for really an inordinate amount of time about the most minor of inconveniences. The way he hung onto Aziraphale’s every word, asked him thoughtful questions. Aziraphale always felt lighter, cared for after their meetings. 

Such was the value of friendship from the only other being that could fully understand his position. Errant thoughts about kissing aside.

But it had been five decades since the last time. A blink of an eye, really, but it grated on him in a way he hadn’t expected. He _missed_ Crowley. He’d worked through his issues with Crowley’s proposed arrangement, but honestly if this was the only way he’d be guaranteed to see Crowley, he had no choice but to accept anyway.

He promised that the next time he saw Crowley, the next time Crowley asked (because he always asked), he would say yes.

They’d seen each other next in Giza in 740. Aziraphale invited Crowley to dinner at a small restaurant overlooking the Nile and he’d spent about half the time just studying Crowley. At his bronzed skin, several shades darker than the last time they’d met, at his yellow eyes glowing in the orange light, at the dark kohl around his eyes, reminding Aziraphale again of the night Crowley kissed him. Crowley’s distinct profile, his curved nose, his jutting chin, stood out in stark relief to the setting sun just behind him. 

He _felt_...

“I’d--I’d like to accept. Formally.” He really hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but Crowley hadn’t mentioned it throughout the entire meal.

“Accept what, angel?”

“The Arrangement.”

Crowley set his drink down and leaned back, peering at him over his sunglasses. He had a small, approving smile that Aziraphale had seen first that time in Rome with the oysters. His stomach swooped at the tacit approval and he drank to cover any expression betraying his own feelings.

“Well. That is _excellent_ news, Aziraphale. You know, I wasn’t even going to bring it up today. Figured it was a lost cause.”

“Yes, well. You’re rather persuasive. Comes with the territory, I imagine.”

Crowley shrugged. “Suppose it does.” He grinned excitedly. “We should shake on it. Make it official.” He extended his hand across the table and stared at Aziraphale with a singular focus. He wondered faintly if this is how Eve felt before Crowley offered her the apple.

Aziraphale grasped his hand and maybe they held on longer than they should have. Neither would mention it.


	4. Chapter 4

**828**

Crowley wasn’t quite sure how they ended up here. On a ship full of Scandinavians, standing before each other as someone stood between them reading out what sounded like marriage vows.

He knew they had been drinking. He winced as the ship tilted and a sharp pain rang through his skull. _A lot_ of drinking, if the low-grade migraine was anything to go by. He knew they weren’t on a boat when they started. He looked around and didn’t recognize any of the dozen or so people who were in the room, except for Aziraphale.

He looked at Aziraphale and the angel looked just as lost as he did. His hair was standing on end, his face pale and slightly green. The ship pitched again and Aziraphale grasped onto Crowley’s hands to steady himself. Their hands were clammy, but he gripped back tightly. Aziraphale looked at him and mouthed “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” he mouthed back. “Are we getting married?”

Aziraphale shook his head and then closed his eyes tight, trying to keep from being sick. “Later.”

They both repeated the words they were asked to repeat. Crowley glanced down and saw his skirts were ripped. What _happened_? He knew they were in a pub in Denmark. Aziraphale had sent him a letter asking to meet and who was he to ever deny any request Aziraphale had ever asked of him?

The room erupted in cheers and _Satan_ if everyone could just be absolutely quiet and never look at or talk to him again until he had a chance to clear this migraine, that would be _great_.

He looked back at Aziraphale who was suddenly refusing to meet his gaze, an embarrassed slump in his shoulders. The large bearded man standing between them clapped their shoulders and laughed deep in his belly. 

“What are you waiting for, lad? Kiss her!” 

Oh. 

Aziraphale glanced back at him finally, apologetically. Crowley had never been sick in his life, didn’t think he could, physically, but this might finally do it. 

This really isn’t how he wanted their first kiss to happen. He’d run through many scenarios: Aziraphale tenderly cupping his face as he confessed his secret love with a soft, gentle brush across his lips. Aziraphale shoving him against that column in Rome, a hand under his toga and his tongue, hot and filthy, plunging into his mouth between heated whispers of “I’ve wanted this for so long” and “please, darling.” Even a quick peck on the lips as a thank you for taking care of an assignment. 

Anything with more meaning than this, at an illegitimate wedding while fighting violent hangovers and seasickness. 

This absolutely wasn’t fair and he cursed God, almost definitely not for the first time that day, for forcing him into this.

He looked at Aziraphale who was still standing there nervous and clearly feeling ill. His heart clenched. He was being selfish. They just needed to get this over with so they could fix themselves and figure a way out of the situation. He shouldn’t be _upset_ that his first kiss with the love of his life wouldn’t actually mean anything, wouldn’t be the sweeping romantic or frantic lust-filled gestures he had been imagining for thousands of years. Selfish, really.

Crowley squeezed his hands in reassurance and nodded.

Aziraphale gently placed his hand on Crowley’s cheek and closed his eyes, leaning closer. Crowley inhaled softly and met Aziraphale’s lips and _oh_ , oh this was still everything. Aziraphale’s lips were soft beneath his, warm despite how cold the rest of him felt. It wasn’t how he had pictured it, but it was still _Aziraphale’s lips on his lips_.

His own hand came up to brush against Aziraphale’s feather-soft hair. He tapped lightly on Aziraphale’s temple, relieving him of any hangover and nausea, and Aziraphale groaned in appreciation, opening his mouth slightly, his hand tightening around Crowley’s. Crowley’s entire body sang as Aziraphale’s groan reverberated throughout him and Crowley felt drunk again, this time on his need and that _noise_. He wanted to pull every noise Aziraphale could make like that and swallow them down, keep them safe and _his_.

Aziraphale’s breath smelled of stale wine and Crowley knew his was probably worse, but he never wanted to leave. Wanted to keep kissing and kissing and kissing, coaxing Aziraphale’s mouth open further and drown in him, in their desire. 

He had to stop, had to make sure he wasn’t pressing his luck, taking advantage of Aziraphale. He made to pull back, but Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to lick at Crowley’s lips and Crowley gasped at the spark that pulsed through his bottom lip. The noise seemed to bring Aziraphale to his senses and he pushed back with a start. He was breathing heavily and he dropped Crowley’s hand. Crowley mourned the loss of it immediately, feeling like he was adrift at sea (although, he supposed, they were).

Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes or touch him again until they had been shuffled into another room and seated at a _bloody banquet table - what the fuck had happened?_

“Oh, dear, you got rid of my hangover but I didn’t do yours. Here.” Aziraphale brushed a loose tendril of hair off Crowley’s forehead and in the process, Crowley’s mind cleared. He exhaled thankfully. He wished Aziraphale would keep threading his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, what the fuck is happening?”

“ _Crowley_.” There was no bite in it. “I have _no_ idea. The last thing I remember is we were at that tavern and you suggested we go for a walk to sober up a little before we actually _sobered up_.”

“Did I? I don’t even remember that.” He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get off this boat.” He turned to the woman sitting to his right. “Excuse me. Where are we, how long are we going to be on this boat, and where are we arriving?”

She gave him a bewildered look. “How drunk _were_ the two of you?”

Crowley smiled, putting just a hint of snake behind all his teeth. “Clearly drunk enough to ask the question.”

She shook her head. “We just left Denmark. It’s a short one-day journey to Norway. Maybe lay off the wine for the rest of the evening.” She turned back to her meal and Crowley snapped, making her food more underseasoned than it probably already was. 

He turned back to Aziraphale. “Well, the good news is that this is a short trip and we only have a day left. So we might as well just ride this one out and figure out what to do when we get to Norway. Tuck in, angel. You still look a little sickly. Probably just need something to nibble.” 

Aziraphale knit his eyebrows together in an inscrutable expression. His eyes darted over Crowley’s face and Crowley frowned. Any time Aziraphale looked at him like this, he felt equal impulses to flee and hold as still as possible, to let the nervous warmth of Aziraphale’s scrutiny wash over him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… feeling a little unwell still, I suppose. You’re right. I just need something to eat.”

Crowley needed to look anywhere but Aziraphale’s still inscrutable gaze. He rested his chin on his hand and looked around at their surroundings. He was still reeling a bit from the kiss, could feel the hot swipe of Aziraphale’s tongue across his bottom lip. He needed to get off this fucking boat and just go _think_ somewhere.

“Just looking out for you, angel,” he murmured into his hand.

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale said. Crowley heard the small smile in his voice and he tucked it safely into his heart.

They continued to talk throughout the meal, trying to piece together the events that led up to them getting married _again_. 

“There absolutely _was not_ a goat, Crowley. I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Then what am I remembering, Aziraphale? I remember saying ‘I like your goat.’” 

“Dear, I think you were complimenting my _coat_. Why would I have a goat? I would remember if there was a goat.”

Crowley was about to tell him _several_ reasons why he might have a goat, but the large bearded man who officiated their wedding stood up, a tankard of beer in his hand, and the crowd fell silent.

“Well, we’ve certainly had a more interesting trip than usual! I don’t think we’ve ever started a voyage with a marriage. And these two were absolutely pissed out of their minds when they found us about to set sail and begged me to marry them so we’ll see if that holds once they sober up!”

Everyone laughed. Crowley felt mortified. Begged him to what now? He glanced at Aziraphale who looked just as frozen in his seat.

“Although if we’re discounting any marriage that begins without sobriety, I don’t think any of us would be married! And I’m never one to discourage love, no matter how it begins or ends. So - to the happy couple!”

The group toasted them and Aziraphale gave a tight-lipped smile as he hardly lifted his glass. Crowley chugged the wine in front of him. He heard the woman next to him tut disapprovingly and Crowley would make sure she found several large rats in her bed later.

“Now, we’ve kept you lovebirds from your marriage bed long enough. Go on! Get out of here!” The room filled with whoops and hollers. Crowley felt like his limbs wouldn’t move. His eyes darted around frantically, trying to calculate whether it was worth teleporting the both of them while they were on open water. 

He saw Aziraphale stand up out of the corner of his eye and then felt the angel’s hand gently circle his wrist. He looked at Aziraphale who raised his eyebrows and nodded behind him. Crowley stood up and interlaced their fingers, hoping desperately that Aziraphale would permit him this bit of comfort. Aziraphale squeezed his hand and led them out of the room, down a damp hallway into a cramped cabin sparsely decorated with just a cot, a small table, and a chair. 

Crowley closed the door and locked it with a small miracle. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood, closed his eyes, and breathed. He needed just a minute to gather himself but he knew with Aziraphale in the room he wouldn’t be able to.

“Where does this rank on our worst nights ever?” Aziraphale broke the silence. He sounded strained, but Crowley could tell he was trying to keep his tone light-hearted. He laughed softly and turned around, resting his head on the door. He was so, so grateful for Aziraphale.

He pursed his lips in exaggeration and tapped his chin. “It can’t possibly be the worst, but it’s definitely up there. Oh, what about Turkey? With the porcupines?”

Aziraphale shuddered. “I had forgotten about the porcupines. I think my mind tried to scab over the trauma.” They fell silent again. 

The tension in the air was too heavy for two people who definitely, obviously, _undeniably_ were not about to have sex. They weren’t going to last the night like this unless Crowley panicked and forced his body immediately to sleep to avoid any awkward conversations. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Aziraphale stepped forward and Crowley stood perfectly still against the door, his heart beating wildly. 

“Silly, really, getting so involved in two strangers’ sex lives.” Crowley did not need to hear Aziraphale say the word sex. Aziraphale laughed breathlessly. “I mean, can you even imagine? Us. Having…”

He trailed off and suddenly studied Crowley, his eyes raking up and down his body. Crowley felt pinned in place by the look in Aziraphale’s eyes. He would not, could not move. He was going to die here, permanently. He should’ve known it would’ve been the sexual tension in the end. Aziraphale was staring at his lips and Crowley wanted to grab for him, crush their mouths together and run his hands under Aziraphale’s coat. Grind their hips together as Aziraphale pinned his wrists to the door.

He couldn’t hide the shudder that went through him. Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. Yeah, this was definitely going to be what killed him. 

“Might spontaneously combust if that happened.”

“Yes, lots of explosions, I imagine.”

His breath was caught in his throat. Aziraphale was too close, the heat of him radiating off in waves. He was within arms reach, he could just _lean_ forward and--

Aziraphale blinked and then stepped back, almost regretfully. He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, well, better not then. There’s enough paperwork as is without filing a form for discorporation. Now, would you prefer the bed, dear? I know you like to sleep and if you’d like to before we get to our destination, I wouldn’t mind. I can take the chair and entertain myself.”

Crowley’s nails dug into his tightly-balled hands. He forced them to relax and he took a deep breath.

“Yeah, sleep would be good. I’m feeling--overwhelmed.”

Aziraphale nodded and sat in the crooked wooden chair. He winced at the discomfort and Crowley frowned.

“I don’t have to sleep the entire time. I wouldn’t want you to just sit there alone.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, a genuine one this time. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. “Nonsense. Take as long as you need. Twelve hours is nothing for us, you know that.” 

Crowley nodded and laid down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around him and facing away from Aziraphale towards the wall. He closed his eyes, but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They fuck in this one, fam

**944**

“Anyway, and then I told Beelzebub where they could shove it.”

Aziraphale looked at him fondly. “Did you now.”

Crowley moved his head side to side noncommittally. “Eh, I was thinking it. And that pretty much counts.”

“I'm sure, dear. Glad you're standing up for yourself.”

Crowley pulled a face at him and made an undistinguished mocking noise. He took a sip of his wine and slinked back in his chair. 

“Satan, this wedding is taking ages. I still don't understand how the third daughter of a lord got this lavish of a ceremony.”

“Petra’s his favorite, you know that. You're fond of her, too. And the boy, well.”

They both grimaced. Poor Nikolaj. 

The boy was barely seventeen and the only son of a man just on the cusp of a title. The marriage had been arranged much to Nikolaj’s father’s delight; it was a solid upward move, even if it was to a third daughter. Petra seemed pleased - Nikolaj was handsome and she had always been a carefree spirit. Nikolaj on the other hand… well, there wasn't a single thing on Earth that didn't make him anxious. 

“Poor kid looked like he was going to be sick, did you see him? Look how pale he is!”

Aziraphale glanced over towards the front of the room and he really did look sickly. Petra placed her hand gently on his arm and he blanched further. Poor Nikolaj.

The angel looked back towards his companion. Crowley seemed bored, drumming his long fingers on the table, a gold ring on his index finger catching the glint of the candlelight. He focused on those fingers, on the tendons moving in gentle waves across the back of his hand as he moved the digits back and forth. He thought of Crowley’s hand warm on the small of his back, clutching tightly to his arm, dancing across his hairline and his cheeks. 

He thought of his hand firm on his chest as they kissed desperately, trailing lower, gripping his cock, his slender fingers thrusting in and out of him to open him up. 

Aziraphale shuddered.

Things had… shifted. Since that night on the sea. He’d always thought Crowley lovely to look at - he was an angel, he wasn’t blind - but over the past century those looks had lingered. Turned from genuine aesthetic appreciation to something fevered. It simmered beneath his skin and he found himself both grateful and disappointed that Crowley hadn’t seemed to pick up on the change in his feelings.

The worst part was that he knew Crowley wanted him, too. It’d be hard to miss the looks Crowley had thrown him over nearly 5000 years. He knew that if he gave in, kissed Crowley the way he was too afraid to do before, that Crowley would respond in kind, would be eager and giving and _happy_.

He tugged at his collar. This building was sweltering. 

“You okay, angel?” 

Aziraphale snapped his gaze up from Crowley’s hands. “What, dear?”

“Are you feeling okay? You look flushed and not from the wine.”

“It's quite hot. Are you hot?”

Crowley flashed a grin. “I'm always hot.”

He rolled his eyes. “You have a place nearby, yes? It's getting late. I'm sure our hosts will understand if we leave before the reception is over.”

Crowley drained the rest of his wine and Aziraphale licked his lips as a small rivulet trailed down his chin. Crowley wiped his mouth and stood up, chair scraping against the floor. 

“Shall we?”

Aziraphale nodded and followed him out. 

He stopped just outside the hall and closed his eyes, let the cool night air into his lungs, flooding him with some sense of calm. Crowley turned around when he felt that the angel had paused. 

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale smiled and walked beside him. “Yes, coming. Lead the way.”

They walked in companionable silence to Crowley’s residence. His knuckles brushed against Crowley’s as they walked and neither moved away from each other. 

After they made their way to Crowley's, Aziraphale sat in a comfortable chair next to the couch and Crowley handed him a glass of wine. He swirled it absentmindedly as Crowley prattled on about Nikolaj and Petra. 

There was another Crowley-adjacent box that he had trouble with. This one was labeled “What Heaven and Hell Will Do to Us If They Find Out”. 

He still kept a tight lid on it, despite everything. But he visited it frequently, every time they met up or had to report back to their respective head offices. Had to take the time to sort through their actions, their friendship, and decide whether the benefits outweighed the consequences.

They always, always had. Aziraphale was afraid they always would. 

It had gotten worse, more harrowing to visit the box once he’d started thinking about having sex with Crowley. The first time he’d touched himself and spilled over his hand, Crowley’s name a whine in his throat, he’d spent the next three days fretting and pacing around his apartment attempting to sort out what it meant for their friendship and safety.

Like everything Crowley-related, he’d rationalized it away. Surely if laughing with a demon, eating and drinking with a demon, trading blessings and temptations with a demon was okay with him, then _this_ should be okay, too. 

The rationalization didn’t need to be sound - it just needed to help him feel like anything about the myriad rules of Heaven and Hell and Earth made sense.

He looked back at Crowley, at his best friend, his companion in this world, looked at his wine-stained lips and it was like a _pull_ on his soul. How could what he felt about Crowley be wrong when it felt more like home than anything else did? (God forgive him)

“--pretty sure he's going to pass out the second he realizes that he's expected to consummate the marriage tonight.”

How many times had he thought about what would have happened if they consummated their last marriage. 

This was it. If he didn’t say something now it was never going to happen and maybe it _shouldn’t_ ever happen, but he didn’t _care_ and he _wanted_ , had wanted for _so long_.

He took a deep sip of wine, hardly tasting it around the buzz in his mouth. He lowered the cup slightly and said, carefully, nonchalantly, “You know, we never actually consummated our marriages.” 

Crowley’s head whipped around to look at him, wide-eyed surprise on his face, potential coiled in every muscle of his body. Aziraphale looked directly into Crowley’s eyes, his nerves thrumming, his heart beating wildly.

“A pity, really.”

Crowley gaped and then closed his mouth quickly. Aziraphale watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, imagined sucking a mark above the hollow of his throat. The air closed in heavy around them, suffocating them against the precipice they were on. 

“A pity,” Crowley echoed faintly. 

Aziraphale tapped his index finger on the chair arm, maintaining his eye contact with Crowley. It was up to Crowley to take the last step. He couldn't launch into this without him. 

Crowley moved to the edge of the couch and sank to the ground on his knees. He crossed the short distance to Aziraphale and Aziraphale inhaled softly as Crowley came to a stop between his spread legs. Crowley placed his hands on Aziraphale’s ankles and rubbed slow circles into them. He bit back a groan at the intentional contact, at the sight of Crowley kneeling before him, so close to his quickly hardening cock. 

Crowley’s nails dragged up his legs as they stared at each other, a white heat crackling between them, catching in Aziraphale’s chest.

Crowley only broke their gaze when he leaned in to kiss Aziraphale’s right knee. Aziraphale gasped. 

“ _Husband_ ,” Crowley whispered, and it was like lightning struck through Aziraphale’s spine.

“ _Wife_ ,” he whispered breathlessly. Crowley’s hands moved from his knees to rub slowly up and down his thighs. Aziraphale’s breeches were tented inches from Crowley’s mouth and he swallowed thickly. 

Crowley pressed a lingering kiss to his inner thigh and Aziraphale keened. One hand dug into the armchair and the other came up to run through his hair. Crowley _purred_ and nuzzled closer to him. Aziraphale ran his thumb along his cheekbone and Crowley turned his head to kiss and mouth along Aziraphale's wrist. How were there so many nerve endings in a thing as simple as a wrist?

“How can your wife please her husband? With her hands?” His hands ran closer to Aziraphale's length. “Her mouth?” He leaned forward and nosed along his cock. Aziraphale moaned openly as Crowley finally, _finally_ touched him. 

Crowley sat back on his legs and looked suddenly self-conscious, unsure. “Angel, I--Are you sure? Do you want this? We can stop. We can forget it happened. I'm. Okay. The way we are. It's enough for me. I don't want you to regret this.”

He wore such a look of concern, of _love_ and a wave of affection crashed over Aziraphale. He leaned forward and took Crowley’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across his cheeks. “I want this. I want _you_ , Crowley. Sometimes it’s--it's all I want. Please, dear. Don't stop.”

And then because he couldn't help it, because his whole body sang with it, he kissed Crowley. And oh, this was so much better than their last, when they were forced into it and so hungover they could hardly move. Crowley’s lips were soft and pliant beneath his, his lithe body relaxing in a giant exhale as the demon’s arms came up to wrap around him. He tried to pour his entire self into it, decades and centuries of longing and want and affection and some other unknown feeling beating at his ribcage. 

Crowley darted his tongue forward, swiped against his lips in a question, and Aziraphale answered it gratefully by opening his mouth. He tasted Crowley, wine-sweet, in his mouth and moaned. Crowley’s fingers dug into his cloak, pulling at it insistently and Aziraphale unfastened the garment and shrugged it off his shoulders, lips never leaving Crowley’s. Crowley tossed it to the floor and made quick work of the tie around his tunic, his hands resuming their slow path along Aziraphale’s thick thighs. Aziraphale pulled back from him, panting. He pressed their foreheads together and they grinned at each other.

“Much better than last time,” Aziraphale commented.

Crowley gave an agreeing hum and kissed him again, his hands coming to a rest on Aziraphale’s hips, thumbs tracing small circles against him.

“Need you to take these off, angel.”

Aziraphale lifted his hips and pushed at his tights as Crowley tugged until they pulled them over his knees and off his feet. Aziraphale suddenly felt shy and exposed. His thick cock stood proud and leaking and Crowley stared at it hungrily, licking his lips. Aziraphale whimpered.

“Oh, _angel_.” And then Crowley’s hand was on his cock and it was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ like he could’ve imagined, his own hand suddenly a poor imitation of what Crowley was giving him.

Crowley stroked up and down his cock slowly, drinking in every noise and expression on Aziraphale’s face. He swiped his thumb along the drip of precome leaking from the tip and used it to slick his hand as he continued to stroke Aziraphale. His other hand came to wrap around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him closer to the edge of the seat. Crowley shuffled forward and looked up at Aziraphale through his lashes, the gold of his eyes wider than Aziraphale had ever seen them before.

Crowley licked his lips again and his eyes flickered between Aziraphale’s cock and his face. “Angel… can I?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Darling, _please_.” 

Crowley’s eyes fluttered with the new endearment and he darted his tongue out, just barely licking along Aziraphale’s slit before curling his tongue around the head and sucking at it insistently. 

Aziraphale threw his head back and cried out. He’d gone his entire existence on Earth without being discorporated but this was what was going to do it. Crowley’s tongue, always so clever, ran insistently along the underside of his head, swirled across it like he’d never had anything better in his mouth. 

He looked back down at Crowley and groaned again. His eyes were shut in pleasure as he bobbed shallowly along his cock, as if this was just as gratifying to him as it was to Aziraphale. His free hand rested high on Aziraphale’s thigh, clenching and unclenching in time with his movements. He seemed to sense Aziraphale watching him and he opened his eyes. He pulled off and Aziraphale whined. Crowley peppered hot, wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock. Aziraphale inhaled sharply as Crowley nosed at the base before the demon grinned at him and sank down on the full length of his cock in one movement.

“Crowley!” 

Crowley continued to move, his nose pushing into Aziraphale’s plush stomach every time he took his cock fully into his mouth. 

He ran his hands over and over through Crowley’s soft hair. He tugged sharply when Crowley gave a particularly pointed suck and Crowley _whined_ and did it again. Aziraphale felt hot tingles wash over him, the pull in his gut tugging insistently, and he eased Crowley off his cock. Crowley took a deep breath, spit covering his chin and looked up dopily at Aziraphale. Aziraphale felt another pull in his stomach for a different reason.

“I was about to--I don’t want to yet.” He continued to stroke Crowley’s hair and Crowley leaned his head into his touch, never breaking eye contact. He looked like he’d be happy to just kneel before Aziraphale and be petted for the rest of his life. 

“Come here, darling.” 

Aziraphale helped him to his feet and he looked him up and down.

“Please strip for me. And then sit across my lap.”

Crowley followed his instructions and as each layer was removed, as each new patch of skin was revealed, Aziraphale felt his aching need grow. He removed his own tunic and continued to watch. 

Finally Crowley stood naked before him, perfectly skinny, his collar bones and ribs rippling gently under his skin. His long legs and hips cocked perfectly to his side, and his cock was so hard and red and dripping at nearly eye level. He exhaled shakily. 

“You are beautiful, Crowley.” Crowley blushed.

“I don’t know about all that.”

“You are. Given how much time we’ve spent together, I’m considering myself the leading expert on the subject. Please come here so I can appreciate you properly.”

Crowley crawled up onto his lap and straddled his waist. Their cocks brushed together as they moved and they both gasped. Aziraphale set to exploring every inch of Crowley’s bare skin with his hands, roaming in broad strokes over his thighs, his arse, the expanse of his back. He wanted to know every inch of him, memorize every freckle dotted across his narrow frame.

Crowley kissed under his ear and then sucked his earlobe into his mouth, nibbling it gently. Aziraphale hummed and trailed his hand down every vertebrae of Crowley’s spine. Crowley moved, kissing along his jaw before finally burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and inhaling deeply. He kissed and sucked at his skin and Aziraphale’s hips bucked up, his cock sliding between Crowley’s arse cheeks. Their nails dug into each other.

“Can I touch you?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley chuckled into his neck. “What’ve you been doing, angel?”

“You _know_ that’s not what I--” 

“Yes, I know. Yes, _please_. Please touch me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale didn’t think he’d ever explicitly said please to him before. It was implicit in every request he made, but hearing him ask him now. How could he deny him?

He took Crowley in hand and squeezed gently. It was so similar and yet so different to his own. Crowley panted heavily into his neck and as Aziraphale began stroking him slowly, reverently, Crowley grazed his teeth along Aziraphale’s pulse point and sucked bruises into his neck. 

Aziraphale turned his head and pressed his nose closer to Crowley, needed there to be no space between them. He kissed fervently against his hair, his temple, his cheek, his ear. Just needing to be closer, closer, closer. Crowley whimpered and nuzzled into his affection, his hands coming to rest around Aziraphale, long fingers flexing and nails scraping against the nape of his neck. 

Crowley’s breath hitched and he whimpered as Aziraphale's hand sped up. “Aziraphale.”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“Can you--fuck me. _Please_.”

He inhaled softly against Crowley’s cheek. “ _Yes_ , darling. Anything you want.”

He let go of Crowley’s cock and ran his hand along Crowley’s arse. He squeezed and Crowley bucked forward in his lap. 

“Next time I'll open you up properly,” he promised. _Next time_. How could there not be a next time after this? He'd finally found his own personal Eden on Earth, in Crowley ( _God forgive him_ ), and he wasn't going to leave now. “I'll slick up my fingers and take my time and work you open, but I need you, Crowley. Right now. Please, can I?”

Crowley nodded against him. He traced his fingers against Crowley’s entrance and then tapped lightly. Crowley inhaled sharply as he was suddenly loose and slick. He reached behind himself to line up Aziraphale’s cock with his entrance and then sank down in one swift motion. The air was punched out of both of them as they just _felt_. Finally as close as they both wanted, as they were meant to be. 

“Oh, _darling_ ,” Aziraphale whispered before bringing Crowley's face forward and crashing their lips together. He ran his tongue along Crowley’s, along his teeth and whimpered as the demon sucked on his bottom lip. Crowley began moving his hips, lifting himself and bottoming out again, over and over. He pressed their foreheads together and their breaths mingled as they panted against each other, hands touching and pulling everywhere they could.

Aziraphale felt his release building, this impossible thing running through his nerves and centering in his gut. He grabbed Crowley’s cock again, slick with precome, and jerked him tightly, quickly. 

“Crowley, I'm going to come. Can I come inside you? Please, please, please.”

Crowley buried his head back into Aziraphale’s shoulder and just panted “Yes, yes, yes.” He continued to bounce on Aziraphale's cock and grind his hips forward into Aziraphale’s tight fist. 

Aziraphale cried out as his orgasm ripped through him, his hips jerking further into Crowley with each pulse. Crowley moaned as he was filled and then came, spilling over Aziraphale's hand and onto his chest. The demon slumped forward and he quickly wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him close. He heard Crowley snap and felt the mess plastered between them disappear. 

He ran his hands in broad, warm strokes along Crowley’s back. This feeling was new, overwhelming. He had never felt as content and warm and _secure_ as he did here, with Crowley in his arms, Crowley’s lips kissing lazily at his bare shoulders. He wished he could stay in this moment for the rest of their lives. 

He suddenly grew nervous. He wanted to stay with Crowley, at least for tonight. Should he ask? Would he be allowed? Would they go back to drinking wine and talking and let this just be a moment in time? He couldn't stand if Crowley didn't ask him to--

“Stay the night. Please,” Crowley whispered against his skin. “I know you don't sleep, but the bed is big enough for two and I have a couple books you can read. Just. Please stay tonight. We can get some breakfast at that place you like tomorrow morning. If you want.”

Aziraphale let out a full body exhale and Crowley sunk further into him. He pressed a firm kiss against Crowley’s forehead. “Of course, dearest. There's nowhere else I’d rather be.”

They remained seated together for awhile longer before Crowley reluctantly stood up, groaning as his joints cracked. He reached his arms high above his head and leaned from side to side to stretch his ribcage. Aziraphale let himself indulge in this, in looking unashamedly at Crowley’s nakedness. There was a quiet simmer of something in himself, heavy in the air around them. 

Crowley smiled at him. “Can I get you anything? Tea? I don't actually have any tea, but I'll make you tea.”

Aziraphale gave a demure smile. “Tea would be lovely, darling. Thank you.” He shifted on the chair and realized he was still naked. “Oh, I suppose I should miracle a nightgown.”

Crowley glanced back over his shoulder as he rummaged around for a cup. “And ruin the view? You can stay naked all night, angel. I'll keep you warm.” He winked and turned back to his task. Aziraphale rolled his eyes affectionately. 

He did miracle a nightgown and stood up, taking a closer look around Crowley’s home. There were several books on a desk, as he had mentioned, and he scooped them up to take to bed. A stack of open letters stood next to a messy inkwell. His eyes then caught a flash of yellow and he gasped softly. 

A single marigold grew in a pot in the windowsill. There was clearly some kind of miraculous energy surrounding it. There would have to be: the climate wasn't right for them. 

“Crowley!”

The demon gave a questioning hum from behind him. 

“Where did you get this flower? It's beautiful. It reminds me of--do you remember all those years ago in Mexico? We stumbled upon that vendor with all of those marigold garlands and I bought you one because they reminded me of your lovely eyes and--”

Crowley came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, careful to avoid spilling the tea in his hand. He rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and nuzzled his nose against his ear. 

“That's from the garland.”

Oh. 

Then, _oh_. 

He was in love with Crowley. 

It was so simple a thought for how absolutely world-shattering it was. Every rush of warmth upon seeing Crowley in a new location, his agreement to the Arrangement, every meal, every laugh. Hundreds of little concessions, pebbles slipping away under his feet, all to come to this moment where he was tumbling, falling off the edge.

He felt dizzy, overwhelmed with the implications. 

Crowley pulled back and Aziraphale could hear the frown in his voice when he asked “Angel?”

Aziraphale turned and cupped his cheek with the hand that wasn't holding the books. “Sorry, my dear. It just surprised me. It's very… sweet.”

Crowley grumbled and bit his lip to stop a smile from blooming across it. He also stood in a nightgown, the cup of tea steaming in his hand. 

His heart clenched in the familiar way it did when he saw Crowley. How did it take him so long to realize he was _in love with Crowley_?!

Crowley nodded back towards the bed. “You can take the side with the table so you have a place to put the books and the tea. I usually just sprawl out in the middle so.”

Aziraphale nodded silently, afraid that if he spoke he would betray the immeasurable truth he'd just stumbled upon. Crowley crossed over to the bedside table to set the tea down before flopping down with a soft _oof_. He grinned and flexed his toes and patted the space next to him, wiggling his eyebrows at him suggestively. 

He was in love with his best friend, with a demon, with the person who knew him best in the world and who had his cock in his mouth not an hour ago and he was trying desperately to not have a panic attack. 

He set the books on the table and sat next to Crowley, tucking his legs under the blanket. Crowley looked at him nervously, his hand hovering, before he seemed to make a decision and placed it on top of Aziraphale’s. 

“So. Big night for Petra and Nikolaj.” Crowley ran his thumb along the back of Aziraphale's and he was reminded of that time in Olympia when he let Crowley hold his hand and lean in close. Had he been in love then? 

“Listen, angel. I don't. This can just be the one time. I don't want this to change anything. Our friendship… it's very important to me. I wouldn't risk it.”

Aziraphale smiled at him softly. He squeezed Crowley’s hand. “Your friendship is very dear to me too, Crowley.” _I'm rather in love with you, actually, I'm just finding out. Do you love me too? What will I do if you love me too?_

Crowley still looked unsure and oh, that wouldn't do at all. He didn't know if he'd let himself have this past tonight, so he wanted to do as much as he could. He reached up to brush Crowley’s long locks off his face. His fingers skimmed along his hairline, smoothed across his cheekbone and trailed down his cheek to the jut of his chin. Crowley remained still as Aziraphale explored, his gaze boring into Aziraphale's, trying to understand fully. Finally Aziraphale's fingers came to a rest on his lips, tracing them lightly. He felt the slightly swollen flesh beneath his fingertips. He wanted to kiss Crowley forever. Never wanted to think of anything else. 

He leaned closer to Crowley and Crowley’s hands came up to hold his face. Their lips met again and there was no hurry in it. They traded lazy, languid kisses and swipes of their tongues, hands roaming slowly, exploring, Crowley leaning Aziraphale back into the mattress and Aziraphale's hands coming to tangle in Crowley’s hair. 

This was everything and he couldn't ever, ever lose it. 

Finally Aziraphale pushed lightly at Crowley’s chest and the demon sat up. 

“I believe it's time for bed, Crowley.” He sat up too and reached for one of the books on the table. Crowley watched him carefully. 

“Hey, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale looked at him. Crowley looked like he was waging a war inside himself. He finally blinked and said, “Good night, angel.”

He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and buried his nose in his hip. Aziraphale sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, which caused Crowley to press further into him. Within several minutes, the demon’s breathing grew deeper and Aziraphale could tell he was asleep. He continued to card his fingers through his hair. 

He wanted to panic, wanted to fret, and he knew that pushing it off would make it worse. He needed to put the sex, the realization somewhere, mull over it and decide what it meant for him, for them, for their Arrangement. He needed to do these things for their _safety_ , but he forced himself to stop. 

The panic would be there in the morning. But Crowley wouldn't be for much longer than that. He set his book down and allowed himself to study Crowley, to feel the weight of his hair through his fingers. Allowed himself to bask in his love for this impossible creature and everything they had shared. 

The overthinking would come tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**953-1297**

After they consummated their marriage, sex just became another part of the Arrangement. Crowley wasn't going to question it. If Aziraphale suddenly wanted to kiss him and fuck him every time they met up, who was he to complain?

It was all he was going to get and that would have to be enough. It would _have to be enough_. Even if he did catch the angel looking at him sometimes with something that seemed deeper than his usual affection and fondness. _You’re projecting_ , he sternly reminded himself, _And he deserves more than you could ever hope to give him_.

They had sex nearly every time they saw each other, and they also got married a lot more frequently, too. 

It happened the first time (the fourth time, Crowley corrected himself) in 953, their first meeting after having sex. Maybe they felt obligated to have an excuse to indulge their lust, argued in their circular way that if they were _married_ , it couldn't be wrong (neither believed that and neither seemed eager to call the other one out). So they convinced a priest to quickly marry them after a Sunday service. They just managed to make it back to Crowley’s before Aziraphale dropped to his knees and dove under Crowley’s skirt. 

In 1102, they signed a piece of paper that may or may not have been forged and made it two blocks before Crowley pushed Aziraphale up against a wall and shoved his hand down his trousers. 

Seven years later, they had their first proper wedding (Crowley hardly counted that time on that fucking boat in the 9th century). It had been Aziraphale’s idea and Crowley had gone along with it, even though it seemed silly to have a celebration when neither was close to any particular humans at the time. 

Turned out Aziraphale had found a bakery he loved and paid the owners a tidy sum to make one of every cake and pastry they had. The small room they had gotten married in was half full of desserts and Crowley had rolled his eyes when he saw it. 

“Should've known this wasn't actually about celebrating our wedded bliss for the…” He counted on his fingers. “Sixth time. You love these cakes more than your poor, poor wife.”

Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively, not even glancing at Crowley as he studied the table, deciding what to eat first. “Hush. You know I'm fond of you. I'm also fond of Imran’s baking and it's _important_ to support our neighborhood businesses. It is a way to give without charity.”

Crowley rolled his eyes again but loaded his plate up with whatever Aziraphale couldn't fit on his own so his angel could still have the full sampling available to him. 

Aziraphale groaned around the pastry as soon as he tasted it and by the third bite, a drop of honey lingered at the corner of his mouth and Crowley was getting hard under his dress. 

“Aziraphale,” he growled. 

“Mm, yes, dear? You absolutely _must_ try the pastilla. It's _scrumptious_.”

Crowley slipped his foot out of his shoe and ran it slowly along Aziraphale’s calf. The angel moaned quietly around his fork and Crowley couldn't tell if it was because of the pastilla or him or a combination of the two but he continued his ministrations, foot traveling higher with each pass. 

“How about I send all these to your place and you can eat them off me instead?”

Aziraphale paused and set his fork down carefully. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth and then looked Crowley in the eye. Crowley knew he'd never get used to the hungry look Aziraphale fixed him with nowadays. 

“Oh, darling, you’ll get absolutely filthy. But luckily for you, I am _more_ than happy to clean you up.”

No one else was in the room with them and with a snap, they and the desserts were transported back to Aziraphale’s room. 

His feast lasted hours, even long after the desserts were gone. 

At the tail end of the 13th century, in 1297, Aziraphale had just gotten back from a long assignment in Peru and Crowley took him to a small restaurant he had discovered while wandering the streets of Andalusia. 

Aziraphale was scarfing down stuffed eggs and Satan, if Crowley still found him attractive then, there was really no hope for him. 

Aziraphale wiped at his mouth. “The alpacas were adorable, at least. Oh, and Crowley, the _mountains_ and the _coast_. They're gorgeous. I've missed South America. We should go together one day - there's so many things I wanted to show you while I was there.”

Aziraphale couldn't possible realize the things he said sometimes. And Crowley, somebody help him truly, as good as he was at keeping his mouth shut, he couldn't help prodding every now and then. Something had changed in the angel’s demeanor towards him over the past several centuries and it was probably just that they were having sex, but it felt like _more_. He wanted to ask outright, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t ask, but he could prod. Prodding was different than confessing and he was sure they could survive that.

“You want to take a vacation with me to Peru? Do you even get vacations?”

Aziraphale stammered. “Well, I didn't mean. Not a _planned vacation_ , I just meant that if we're both in the area, we could--that if we both _happen_ to be there, we could--”

Crowley was desperately in love with him. 

“Angel, relax. I know. Just bothering you - it's one of my main hobbies.”

“Don't I know it,” Aziraphale grumbled into his cup. 

Crowley drummed his fingers on the table. “Oh! I can't believe I forgot to tell you this--”

“Hello, beautiful.”

Crowley took exactly two seconds to close his eyes and breathe through the rage that surged through him. One day he would be able to present as a woman and he could just _exist_ in peace, but as it was, today was not that day. Two men who had been eyeing them since they walked in finally decided to approach the table. 

He turned and plastered a sickly smile on his face. “Can I help you?” Aziraphale bristled beside him. 

“Well, if you're offering a _helping hand_ , my friend and I would _love_ if it was your--”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Aziraphale set down his fork. Crowley leaned back and smiled quietly to himself. This would be fun. 

The two men looked at Aziraphale for the first time and they laughed. Aziraphale didn't look intimidating, but Crowley knew better. Knew it intimately. 

“We're talking to the lady right now, friend. Maybe--”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand fiercely and god, he was aching between his thighs at this show of possessiveness. 

“ _The lady_ happens to be my wife, so if you two are quite done, I would suggest you apologize to her for your crude language and suggestions and leave us alone. Then perhaps think about your actions and decide whether you think it’s appropriate to be the kind of person who treats others like this.”

The men glanced nervously at each other before the taller man who had spoken to Crowley puffed up. 

“And what are you going to do if--”

“I _suggest_ you apologize and leave now before we have to find out.”

Crowley could feel some divine power behind the command, felt the light burn of it where Aziraphale gripped him tightly, and the two men looked suddenly harrowed. 

“Sorry,” they both mumbled, before slinking off to the bar counter. 

“She's a dog, anyway,” one of them muttered, still in earshot. 

“Now, _really_ \--” Aziraphale stood up, the angelic glow of him threatening to become visible, and Crowley grabbed at his wrist. 

“Aziraphale. It's okay. Sit down.”

Aziraphale sat and attempted to compose himself, but Crowley could tell he was still fuming. 

Aziraphale shook his head and took Crowley’s hand in both of his, rubbing across his knuckles. “Are you all right? I know you can handle yourself--oh, I probably overstepped, I'm sorry. I just don't like it when people speak about you like that. I don't like it when _anyone_ speaks to women like that. Some of these men…”

Crowley smiled at him. “Men are knobs, we know this.” He grinned wider and leaned directly into Aziraphale’s space, whispering against his ear. “How can a wife thank her husband for defending her honor against two awful brutes? I'm just so _grateful_...” 

Aziraphale pulled back and Crowley bit back a laugh at the sheer force Aziraphale was exhibiting to stop from rolling his eyes. But then he glanced at Crowley’s lips with a simmering heat in his gaze.

“You're a vile temptress, do you know that?”

Crowley flashed a grin. “The original.”

Aziraphale all but dragged him out of the restaurant. 

A couple hours later, they lay in Aziraphale’s bed, Crowley’s head resting on his chest and Aziraphale running his hand absentmindedly along his arm. Crowley listened to the angel’s heartbeat and let out a contented sigh.

The sex was good. The sex was _great_ , obviously. It was more than Crowley had ever, ever expected and he knew that he shouldn’t ask for more. But Aziraphale gave it to him every time, without his asking. Snuggling up against Aziraphale, his angles fitting perfectly against the angel’s curves, was just as good, if not better, than the sex. It gave him permission to _touch_ just for the sake of touching. To run his fingers through blonde curls and bury his face in the angel’s neck as they laughed and cried and spilled secrets wrenched from the deepest places of their hearts.

There were still things they didn’t say, that _Crowley_ at least didn’t say. If this is what Aziraphale wanted to give him, he wasn’t going to ruin it with any grand confessions that could take everything away from him. But Crowley had never felt closer to Aziraphale, had never been more in love with him, and he was happy.

He was happy. 

It was what he was given and he wouldn’t ask for any more.

Except, sometimes, he did.

“You know, Aziraphale.”

He waited. Aziraphale let out a questioning hum, his hand coming to stroke through Crowley’s long curls.

“If we keep getting married, we really ought to get rings made.”

He said it lightly, like it could be a joke or something they could easily sweep under the rug if Aziraphale wasn’t comfortable. But Aziraphale hummed again and Crowley’s heart lifted in hope.

“That might be nice. Something to keep on hand if a situation like today arises again.”

Crowley lifted his head from his crossed arms and smiled at Aziraphale. Aziraphale beamed back. 

_Let me wear it all the time, a sign to the world that I’m taken, that I belong to someone, to you. I’d wear a fucking collar if that’s what you want. Get “Property of Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate” tattooed right on my chest just so everyone would know._

“You’re here until the end of the week, right?” Crowley knew he was. He’d never forget an important detail like where Aziraphale was going to be at every moment of the day. “We could have them made and then exchange them before you leave.” Satan, what an intimate thing to suggest. To exchange _hand-made_ rings instead of miracling them up right now. “Or not, whatever you want.”

Aziraphale brushed his hair from his forehead and Crowley tried not to lean too far into the touch. “No, that sounds lovely, darling. There’s nothing like true human craftsmanship. Oh, I’ll have to think of a design for yours if we’re going to be using these more than the once.”

Aziraphale seemed genuinely deep in thought about it, the wrinkle between his eyes deep and furrowed, his mouth slightly pulled to the side as he bit the inside of his lip and worried it with his teeth. 

_I love you_ , he wanted to say.

Instead he cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, breaking him from his reverie, and kissed him softly. He then tucked his head under Aziraphale’s chin and fell asleep to the steady beat of the angel’s heart.

A week later he stood outside of Aziraphale’s residence, clutching a small box and turning it over and over again in his hands. 

_This is not real. You are not married. Marriage doesn’t even mean anything for two immortal beings. This is just a gift. You’re acting like an idiot. This isn’t real and you can’t get your hopes up._

He knocked on the door and Aziraphale answered it with the warm, broad smile he reserved solely for Crowley. His heart thumped in his chest.

_I would face down Heaven and Hell if it meant we could be in love and spend our lives together._

“Crowley. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry that we don’t have enough time to grab a bite to eat before I leave, but I’m very excited and nervous to give you this. Oh, I hope you like it.” He held out his own box and then gestured Crowley inside. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, angel.” _Anything that shows I’m claimed by you is perfect._

They sat down on the couch, knees bumping against each other. Aziraphale took a deep breath.

“Should I go first? Do you want to go first? Should we give them to each other at the same time? Oh, dear.” Aziraphale wrung his hands with some difficulty as he was still clutching the box in one of them.

Crowley laughed and put his hand on Aziraphale’s knee to steady it. “Here. You can open yours first.” _I hope you don’t hate it. Oh, please, don’t hate it._

Aziraphale took the box carefully from him and opened it slowly. He inhaled nearly imperceptibly as he took the ring out and turned it over in his hands, examining it in the light. 

It was a thick gold band, intricately carved around the entire circumference with a snake coiled around a sword. Crowley swallowed thickly.

“I know it’s not really original. A snake. But I thought you might like--I commissioned the best smith in the city. Paid an arm and a leg, to be honest, to get it done in time, and I thought at least the detailwork was--”

“Crowley.”

He looked up at Aziraphale who was gazing at him with an overwhelming amount of adoration. Tears pricked at his eyes and Crowley wanted to wipe them away with his thumb.

“Come on, don’t cry, angel. It can’t be that bad.”

“No,” Aziraphale said quietly. He looked back down at the ring and rubbed his thumb over it gently. “No, it’s wonderful. I love it. Thank you, Crowley.” He looked back at the demon. “Oh, I’m afraid mine is rather simple in comparison. I can get something else made if you don’t like it--”

“Angel, I’m going to like whatever you give me.” He held his hand out expectantly and Aziraphale put his own box into it.

He willed his hands not to shake as he lifted the lid. It was also a gold band, not too thick and not too thin. It was simple, the hammered texture providing a beautiful finish. He lifted it fully out of the box and knit his brows in confusion as his thumb ran over a carving at the other side of the band. He turned it over and stared at the engraved pattern.

A marigold.

He took a deep breath and felt a sob choke back in his throat. He ran his thumb along it over and over again. 

“I wanted to get you something you could wear no matter how you were presenting. And I know you generally prefer simpler jewelry when you wear it so. It’s nothing too intricate. I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. He couldn’t speak any louder lest it betray the sheer amount of emotion in his voice. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Aziraphale.”

He looked back up and Aziraphale was watching him with such a soft expression on his face. He was about to slip the ring onto his finger when Aziraphale reached out to stop his hand.

“Oh. May I?” Crowley still couldn’t speak, but nodded and handed the ring back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale gently took Crowley’s left hand and looked at their fingers laced together before he looked at Crowley and slipped the ring onto his finger. 

Something about the ring made it seem more real. He desperately searched for any sign of jest or insincerity in Aziraphale’s eyes, but found none. Aziraphale just stared back at him intently, earnestly, and it was like nothing else existed but them.

He started to lean closer, but came back to his senses.

“Can I--”

“Please,” Aziraphale breathed. 

He handed the ring to Crowley and then settled his hand back on top of Crowley’s left hand, stroking the ring with his thumb. He held out his own left hand and Crowley looked at it, at his thick fingers and his neat nails and thought of all the kindness and affection that flowed through them. He placed the ring on Aziraphale’s finger and took a breath to memorize this moment. How Aziraphale’s hands looked clasped in his, at the overwhelming sense of love and intimacy bursting from his chest. 

He looked at Aziraphale and he didn’t know who moved first, but they both came together, hands grasping at the other’s and lips moving softly against each other. 

This was different than every other kiss they had shared. There was no urgency to it, no desperation, no one deepening the kiss. It was gentle and soft and full of every single ounce of love Crowley could pour into it.

Finally Aziraphale pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. “I have to go,” he whispered. “I don’t want to.”

Crowley kissed just below his eye before nuzzling forward. “I know. But you have to.”

They pulled apart and Crowley stood up. Aziraphale needed to leave. He couldn’t delay him and if he stayed a moment longer he might do something he would regret. 

Aziraphale walked him to the door and opened it reluctantly. Crowley stepped out and took one last look at Aziraphale’s ring. 

That kiss had to mean _something_.

“Aziraphale--” Aziraphale looked at him with an expectant, hopeful look on his face.

“Yes, Crowley?”

He ducked his head. He tried to say the words but they were caught in his throat. He looked back up and smiled tightly. “Have a good trip.”

Aziraphale creased his eyebrows, but then nodded and smiled back. “See you next time.”

Crowley spun around on his heel and walked away before Aziraphale could close the door. He walked around the city for hours and couldn’t stop rubbing his thumb across his ring or his fingers across his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**1381**

Aziraphale had been searching for Crowley for hours. He thought he’d be relieved when he finally found him in a small tavern just off the main road, but the demon looked _rough_. There were several empty bottles surrounding him and he tilted his head back to drain another one. His clothes were dirty and his hair was unkempt. 

Aziraphale made his way through the tavern to sit down at his table. Crowley looked up at him blearily and didn't even smile, just pushed aside some bottles to make room for Aziraphale. 

He sat down and wrinkled his nose at the stale alcohol smell coming off of Crowley. He'd never seen Crowley this bad before. He wanted to touch, to offer some comfort, but he didn't think it'd be welcome. He clasped his hands in front of him to keep from reaching out. 

“Crowley, I think it's time you go home. Let me help you--”

“Angel? I am usually willing to indulge your constant platitudes, but right now I just need to get spectacularly drunk, so please drink or leave.” There was a harsh clarity behind his unfocused eyes and Aziraphale ached. Ached for his friend and for the peasants in the revolt that had been raging for months. He heard the news of the massacre earlier that day and went searching for Crowley immediately. 

This wasn't healthy. He should sober Crowley up and help him to a safe place. But he didn't blame Crowley for not wanting to face humanity's worst today. He nodded. 

“I can do that.” 

He grabbed one of the unopened bottles and poured it into a glass he produced with a flourish. He emptied it before pouring another glass and passing the bottle to Crowley. 

Crowley raised it to him before taking a deep drink and setting it back down a little too hard. Aziraphale winced. 

“This has been. _The_ worst century to date.”

“So you said back in 1317. I'm sorry that it hasn't improved.”

Crowley took another drink and looked at Aziraphale, his glasses slipping low. “They have absolutely nothing on Hell. Nothing. These people are--” He shook his head and took another drink.

Aziraphale frowned and hesitantly put his hand on top of Crowley's. He didn't move away and Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. “Not all of them are like that, Crowley. You know that. I know you know that.” 

Crowley snarled at him. “Enough of them are that this keeps happening, Aziraphale.” He scrubbed at his face and he stared at the bottle. 

He looked so tired. Aziraphale knew they didn't need sleep but they still got worn out, needed time to rest. When was the last time Crowley _rested_?

Another swig. 

“I know, dear.” A pause. “I can make this stronger.”

Crowley wordlessly passed the bottle to him and Aziraphale tapped the bottle as well as the other two full bottles on the table and passed it back to Crowley. 

“To getting spectacularly drunk.” He raised his glass. 

“ _Spectacularly_ drunk.”

Two and a half bottles and two and a half hours later, they were, in fact, spectacularly drunk. 

“No mrr,” Aziraphale slurred and turned the bottle upside down. He pouted. 

Crowley rested his chin on his hands and stared at Aziraphale, swaying slightly back and forth. “You're very pretty, ‘Ziraphale.”

Aziraphale set the bottle down and leaned towards Crowley. “ _You’re_ pretty. Pretty. Eyes. Pretty face. Good face. Good _mouth_.”

Crowley scooted closer, nearly falling over. Aziraphale extended his hand to catch his chest and ended up swatting his elbow. 

“Yeah? Good mouth? You got. Good hands.” Crowley’s hand reached towards his own below the table and he ran his fingers clumsily over Aziraphale’s left ring finger. 

He wasn't wearing his ring. He had worn it for several months after arriving in Portugal, but eventually took it off, stored it neatly in a small wooden box, and kept it safe. 

Unlike the mental boxes where he stored their seven marriages, he liked to look inside the wooden box where he kept the ring quite frequently. It was such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, such a thoughtful idea on Crowley’s part. He wished he could bear wearing it more, but it was a stark reminder that even if Crowley returned the love he felt, they still couldn't be together. Not properly, not openly. They had to resort to clandestine meetings. Couldn't spend more than a couple days together at a time. 

He sometimes liked to imagine how it would feel if they were married for real. He liked to think about their house and their garden and their bed. He liked to imagine falling asleep with Crowley for the sole purpose of waking up with him. He liked to think about holding Crowley’s hand and kissing him every single day, unafraid, unapologetic. 

Crowley continued to rub at his fingers and Aziraphale could feel his body reacting through the sluggish hold the alcohol had on him. 

Crowley looked up suddenly, his mouth open in vacant thought. “Should get married. Me and you. Right now. Here. In the bar.”

Aziraphale tried tightening his grip on Crowley’s hand but it was useless. “Married. Why?”

Crowley shrugged. “Ev’rything sucks. You don't. You're good--a good angel. ‘M a demon. And that's. It.”

Aziraphale had to admit, Crowley was making a lot of good points. 

He nodded at Crowley and kept nodding for a good few seconds too long. 

“Yeah?” Crowley was staring at him intently. What was the question?

“What?”

“Marry me?”

“Yeah. Yes. Yes, _rem_ \--markb--good idea, Crowley.”

Crowley stood up, still holding Aziraphale’s hand, and they stumbled their way around the table. 

“Attention, everyone!” A few heads turned in their direction amusedly. “This is my best friend and we’re going to get. _Married_. So come on! Who’s ordina--ordea--who can do it.” 

Crowley swung around and gestured broadly to the barkeep. “Thom! How ‘bout you? Marry your favorite customer, eh?”

The slight man behind the bar rolled his eyes and continued to wipe at a glass. “Crowley, will you promise to settle your bill and leave if I do this?”

Crowley pointed at him and swayed slightly. “Yes, and I will buy everyone in this bar another round.”

The bar cheered and raised their glasses. 

Thom sighed and stepped out from behind the counter. He stood between Aziraphale and Crowley. 

“Why is it always something with you, Crowley?”

“Because I'm _devilishly_ charming.” Aziraphale snorted. 

Thom sighed again. “Okay. Uh. Well, we’re gathered here today to drink and also now, I guess, to bear witness to whatever this is.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand and Crowley smiled back at him. This was ridiculous, but Aziraphale was hard-pressed to deny himself any excuse to be close to Crowley now. Especially when Crowley had such a bad day, such a bad century.

“And seeing as this isn't binding for several different reasons, not the least of which because I'm not ordained to marry anyone, I'm not going to pronounce you anything. But I guess I'm glad you two are good friends. Please pay up, including that additional round, and _please_ if you're going to kiss each other, get out of here first.”

Crowley reached under his tunic and threw a large sack of coins on the counter. “Drink up, everyone! We all need it.”

They stumbled out of the bar to cheers that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with free alcohol. The warm night air did nothing to sober them up and Aziraphale swayed on his feet. 

“C'mon, angel. Got a room near here.”

They made it a block before Crowley pushed Aziraphale up against a wall and kissed him sloppily. Aziraphale moaned loudly into his mouth and slipped his hand under Crowley’s tunic to palm at his hardening erection. 

“Good mouth.”

“Good hands.”

“Mmm, take me to yours,” he murmured against Crowley's lips. “Need to. Put our rings on.”

Crowley pulled back and fixed him with such a look that Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest. He raised his hands to cup loosely at Crowley's cheek and neck and stroked lightly with his thumbs before leaning forward to kiss him again. Crowley kissed him several times before tugging him by the hand towards an inn two blocks down. 

They made it back to Crowley’s room without further incident, but then collapsed on the bed as soon as they made it through the door. Crowley's head rested on Aziraphale's plush middle and he burrowed his face into his warmth. Aziraphale hummed and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Darling. The rings.”

Crowley hummed in agreement. “In minute, angel. Soft.” 

Aziraphale continued to stroke his hair and closed his eyes. 

He opened them again with a groan as the morning light streamed through the thin curtains over the window. He smacked his lips and tasted the sour, cotton hangover taste. He peered blearily through one eye, trying to protect himself from the migraine he knew would be there, and saw Crowley’s face jammed into his hip. His hand curled and rested on Aziraphale's inner thighs and he breathed steadily. 

He took a moment to look at Crowley’s sleeping form, something he’d come to cherish over the years of their new arrangement. The sun caught his flaming hair and made him look resplendent. Aziraphale couldn't help but run his fingers through it. As he did, Crowley nosed further into his hip before wincing and groaning. 

Aziraphale miracled his hangover away and then brushed his fingers against Crowley’s temple to miracle his away as well. Crowley murmured a noise of thanks. 

“Did that marriage count?” Aziraphale mused out loud.

Crowley squeezed closer to him. “Counted about as much as most of the other ones. We had a proper ceremony that time.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “I don't think any of that could be considered proper.”

They laid together in comfortable silence, hands running over each other lazily. 

“Angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I _really_ hate this century.”


	8. Chapter 8

**1796**

“Herr Crowley, may I introduce you to Frau Fell? She just moved to Vienna from England several weeks ago - perhaps you know her?”

Crowley smiled as Aziraphale failed to hide his grin and extended a gloved hand. Crowley took it in his and bent to brush his lips against the smooth silk. 

“England’s a big place, but yes, we have met several times before. Used to run in the same circles actually.” 

“I’m glad to hear it! A familiar face in a new country is a comforting thing, indeed.” Joseph Koller, the host of the soiree where they were both surprised and happy to find each other, smiled at them warmly before glancing around the room.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but I do have to greet the other guests. I trust that since you two are acquainted, you won’t mind.” He nodded and skirted around the crowd of dancers in the middle of the large ballroom.

Crowley sidled up next to Aziraphale and handed him a glass of whatever they were serving at the party. The angel took it from him gratefully and took a small sip. Crowley took the pause to glance over Aziraphale. It had been such a long time since he’d worn this corporation in his presence - Olympia was the last, he realized with a startle - and so much had changed between them that he took the picture in eagerly.

Aziraphale’s dress draped loosely down his body, layers of cream and white shifting against each other. His shawl was exquisitely detailed with lace and beading. Blonde curls piled high on the back of his head and were held in place by a pale blue ribbon. And _Satan_ , his breasts. Not fully on display, but barely contained in his high-waisted dress. He swallowed dryly. 

“You look nice, angel. Very of the time, actually. I'm surprised.”

Aziraphale grumbled. “Yes, well fashion just changed so _quickly_ in the past few years that I would look dreadfully out of place in my hoops. Not that this style of dress isn't much more comfortable but.” He sighed wistfully. “Oh, I miss all of the _grandeur_ of the old fashion.”

“Even if that grandeur nearly got your head chopped off? Would have if it weren't for a very handsome local demon who always seems to find you in inconvenient situations.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “Those _shoes_. I'll simply never get over losing them. I suppose the tassels on these are nice.” He extended a foot out from under his hem and wiggled the tassel around. Crowley’s lip quirked and they turned back to the dancing crowd. 

“How long are you in the area?”

“Indefinitely. Figured I'd get out of France until they figure out whatever the Heaven they're doing over there. Vienna seems a bit boring so far.”

Aziraphale nearly spilled his drink as he whipped around to face Crowley and sputtered. 

“ _Boring_?! Crowley, Vienna is in the midst of a cultural revolution! Surely you've heard Beethoven? Gyrowetz? You absolutely _must_ go to the symphony. I’ll take you.”

Crowley’s heart fluttered. “How long are you here then?”

“I'm here indefinitely as well. At least until I get my next orders, but it's looking like it'll be a long-term engagement.”

Crowley frowned. “What about the bookshop?”

Aziraphale would sometimes fix him with a look like Crowley was the only person who ever actually asked about his life. Based on the limited knowledge Aziraphale had let slip throughout the years, that was probably true. He couldn't imagine fucking Gabriel even pretending to care about Aziraphale beyond a means to an end. But Aziraphale cared about Gabriel. About Michael and was one of them named Sandals? Who fucking cared. 

But Aziraphale was looking at him like that now. Gratefulness and warmth and slight disbelief, as if Aziraphale's interests weren't also of great importance to him by simple virtue of being Aziraphale's interests. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “The bookshop can wait. I've bought the building outright so I can take as long as I need. I'm actually almost finished. Just a few more touches and moving the inventory in and it should be done.” He leaned towards Crowley conspiratorially. “I'm awfully excited about it, to be honest. Can't you just imagine me in a shop? Surrounded by books? And it'll be nice to have a place to come _home_ too. You know I've grown so fond of London.”

He could imagine it. Could imagine Aziraphale puttering around his bookshop, maybe retiring to a small flat above the shop in the evening to drink tea or wine and settle in with a handful of books. He wanted to imagine himself there, too, curled up next to him while he read, like he had on so many nights over the past few centuries. He wanted a place where they could feel safe from the prying eyes of Heaven and Hell, where they could feel free to laugh and enjoy each other’s company and love each other and, well, _fuck_.

He glanced back down at Aziraphale’s breasts.

“You know.” He circled Aziraphale casually. “All the times we've been _intimate_ , and you've never been in this corporation. Is it true that women aren't wearing anything underneath now?”

“Crowley.” The angel sounded stern but Crowley knew him well enough by now to hear the tremor of desire in his voice. He grinned as he came to settle at Aziraphale's side. 

“Just curious about the fashion, angel. I personally think the men’s fashion is fantastic right now. How long the cut of the coats is. And I could get used to how _tight_ these pants are. Very _revealing_.”

Aziraphale pointedly refused to look at him, but there was a blush high on his cheeks. 

“So?”

Aziraphale finally turned towards him and sighed exasperatedly. “So what?”

Crowley lowered his sunglasses slightly and nodded over his shoulder. 

“Oh, absolutely not. It would be rude of us and absolutely _scandalous_ to leave this party now, especially _alone together_.” Aziraphale flashed him a coy smile. “No, I'm afraid if we want to stay respectable--”

“I absolutely don't want that.”

“--then you'll just have to court me _properly_. Give me flowers. Take me on walks, chaperoned of course. It simply won’t do otherwise for a decent woman such as myself.”

Crowley leaned in close and whispered hot against Aziraphale’s ear. “There is nothing _decent_ about what you can do with your tongue, angel. Come on. You’ve tried my breasts, plenty of times. Let me. You know my tongue isn’t decent either.”

Aziraphale continued to blush. “Good lord, Crowley,” he murmured. He took a step back and smiled. “Think of it as a game. There’s so many courting rituals now. No, those are my terms, Crowley, and I do hope you’ll play along.” 

His eyes gleamed wickedly and he rested his hand gently on Crowley’s upper arm as he leaned in close to him. “And no, I'm wearing absolutely nothing underneath this dress except my shift and stays. Try to be good and keep your thoughts chaste, dear.” 

Aziraphale walked off, wiggling his fingers over his shoulder in goodbye, and disappeared into the crowd.

Crowley’s tight pants were only getting tighter.

What the Heaven was Aziraphale thinking? They didn’t… _court_. Didn’t spend extended time publicly with each other, especially with a bloody _chaperone_. Aziraphale was usually so much more careful, always keeping whatever affection had built up between them to their private moments. Crowley wanted nothing more than to be affectionate with Aziraphale in public. He was concerned for their safety, of course, but he knew that Hell wasn’t watching. He doubted Heaven was either.

He still couldn’t figure out what Aziraphale was playing at, but fine. If the angel wanted to be courted, Crowley was going to court him harder than anyone could bloody dream. It’s not like he hadn’t been doing it already for almost 6000 years. 

The next morning, he sent a bouquet of blue anemones to Aziraphale’s home with a small note requesting to go for a walk that afternoon at the Kollers’ estate, _chaperoned_ , of course, by Joseph and his wife Lena. He received a card accepting his invitation only an hour later.

That afternoon they strolled through the Kollers’ garden with Joseph and Lena following arm in arm at a respectful distance behind them. Aziraphale carried a lacy white parasol to block the sun and Crowley smiled to himself at how the light filtering through reminded him of Aziraphale’s wings.

“I trust you slept well last night, dear.”

Crowley shrugged. “It was all right. Still getting used to the house. I haven’t lived anywhere that big in awhile. How about you? Not the sleep, obviously, but. You know. Things.” He waved his hand noncommittally.

“Oh, they’re quite well. Thank you for asking.” 

They walked a few more paces. “What’s the endgame here, angel? Not really like you to be so public with our meetings. We could just see each other in private like usual. We have miracles. Our reputation won’t be tarnished with the humans unless we let them.”

Aziraphale ducked his head and his face was partially blocked by the parasol. He finally looked back up but kept his gaze forward. “Aren’t you _tired_ of--” He caught himself and sighed. “I suppose it just seemed fun. The rituals are lovely and quite teasing. I thought it would be fun.” His shoulders slumped slightly. “We can meet privately, if you would rather. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you let me know where you’re staying, I’d love to catch up later tonight.”

Crowley _was_ tired of. Hiding. Pretending. Not just from Heaven and Hell, but from Aziraphale. 

The words _I love you more than anyone has loved anyone else. You are my raison d’etre. You feel like my home and Earth is fantastic and awful and exciting but there’s no moment I wish I wasn’t also sharing with you_ pulsed through his veins, beat at his ribcage until he was sure he was broken and bruised with it inside. Sometimes he thought it was finally going to crack him open, was going to come spilling out without his permission. His love a fact they both knew, but never made explicit.

He desperately wanted to proclaim his affection for Aziraphale openly, to the angel, to the world, but he was concerned for Aziraphale’s safety and the angel's anxiety about anyone finding out about them. 

But if Aziraphale _wanted_ like he wanted. 

“I didn’t say I minded.” 

Aziraphale looked up at him hopefully, a smile dancing around his lips. “Oh, really? I just thought it would be… nice.”

“Aren’t you worried, though? It’s all very public. I don’t want you to be anxious about anyone from either of our sides seeing us.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I was thinking about that last night. I think if anyone from your side asks, you can just say that you’re tempting an angel. That’s probably worth a lot down there, I think. As for me, I can say that knowing how wily of an adversary you are, I had no choice but to distract you from your nefarious schemes by tempting me instead. I think that should go over well enough.”

They’d stopped walking and Aziraphale faced him nervously, hopefully. “We’re both here for who knows how long. It would be such a bother to find rendezvous points in a city neither of us has lived in before.” A look of genuine annoyance passed over Aziraphale’s face and Crowley had to resist the urge to kiss him right there. “I… I hope you say yes. If you don’t think it’s a good plan or if you want to say no, I obviously understand and I would never begrudge you for it, darling. But. I want you to say yes.”

 _This is a trap_ , screamed the only rational part of Crowley’s brain. _This is not going to end well and it might finally shatter you beyond repair._

_You will be able to love him as you’ve always wanted, openly, joyfully. You could share a home with him. He could love you back._

His rational brain never stood a chance.

“Yeah, angel. Yes.”

The smile that bloomed on Aziraphale’s face was brighter than the sun beating down on them and he couldn’t help but smile back. Crowley really, really wanted to kiss him. 

“I’m so happy to hear that, Crowley.” He reached up to cup Crowley’s cheek, but his fingertips only had a chance to brush against him before he pulled back suddenly. Crowley whined softly. The touch felt like a match igniting his nerves and he felt the familiar pull of arousal wash through him. Satan, he was embarrassing. 

“Oh. I forgot I’m not allowed to touch. Dear, you really must propose soon because I intend to be chaste until we’re married.”

Crowley scoffed. “How many times have we been married by now? We’ve never actually been divorced. We should be held up as paragons of marriage, given how long it’s lasted.”

“Oh, hush. You just agreed to do things properly.”

Crowley shoved his hands deep in his pockets and kicked at the ground. “You know this one will be different, yeah? It’s not just a day or a week. We’ll be together - we’ll be _living_ together - for a long time. Could be years.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sounded breathless. Crowley’s high hopes were only getting higher and it was futile trying to bring them down.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I want to. I--I like spending my time with you, Crowley.”

Crowley glanced away from Aziraphale lest the tidal wave of emotion that hit overtook him into the angel’s arms.

“So how long is this supposed to go on before I can propose?”

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “How does two months sound?” Crowley scoffed.

“Two months until I can get my hands on you?”

“We’ve waited longer.” Crowley didn’t need the reminder. He pouted. 

“Fine. Two months _to the day_ , angel. Prepare yourself. It’s going to be the best proposal I’ve ever given you.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Most of the others were in a state of drunkenness or lust, so you really don’t have much to beat.”

“I can’t guarantee I won’t be in a state of lust.”

Aziraphale continued to beam at him before leaning in, moving his parasol out of the way to get closer. “I would also appreciate if you kept your hands off yourself, as well. I think it will make the wedding night more fun, don’t you?”

The angel gave him a knowing smirk and walked off, flashing a look over his shoulder.

Crowley stood frozen in place before his body and mind caught up with Aziraphale’s words. _Fuck_. Aziraphale was really, really going to discorporate him one day.

He shoved his hands further into his pockets and tried not to seem too eager as he followed behind.

* * *

The next two months were the most sexually frustrating of Crowley’s long life. He’d gone much longer without having sex with Aziraphale and longer even than that thinking that he would never have sex with Aziraphale. But spending nearly every day with the angel and not being able to touch after he’d had permission for so long, well.

He wondered if there was some truth in Aziraphale’s excuse of distracting him away from other temptations. Every time Aziraphale touched his knee or his arm or gave him a pointed, heated glare from across the room when no one else was looking, Crowley couldn’t focus on anything else for several hours. He should’ve known this was all an excuse for Aziraphale to tease him until he finally discorporated from it.

 _Finally_ , after sixty-one arduous, trying, _wonderful_ days, Crowley called upon Aziraphale at his residence for the first time. He’d taken up a spacious terrace house on the fringes of the city center. 

Crowley didn't know why he was feeling so nervous about all of this. It seemed more real than anything they had done before. The only thing that came close was the day they exchanged their rings, the strongest case he had to Aziraphale matching his feelings beyond friendship, beyond sex. He was loath to admit that Aziraphale had been right: the courting had been… _nice_. It was just a public display of the dance they'd doing privately for thousands of years.

He brought Aziraphale flowers, the blue anemones he had first sent at the beginning of the two months, and some marigolds he had specially imported. They'd arrived somewhat worse for wear, but that wasn't anything a stern talking to hadn't taken care of. 

He rapped smartly at the door and Aziraphale answered almost immediately. Crowley tried not to grin openly about how eager he was. 

“Crowley! How lovely to see you. I wasn't expecting you.”

Crowley peered over his glasses. “So you normally answer the door within seconds of someone calling? Noted. Good to know.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips but struggled to contain his smile. “Do come in, dear.”

Crowley stepped into the foyer and laughed as he realized that every available surface was covered in books. They were stacked in precarious piles along the walls and there were even some on every step of the staircase leading to the upper landing.

“You've really amassed quite the collection. These all for the bookshop then?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I haven't had a chance to move them all yet. And really the bookshop is just storage. I'll sell some books, but not the important ones.” He glanced at the bouquet resting at Crowley’s side and his eyes softened and the edges of them crinkled. “Darling, are those for me?”

Crowley thrust the bouquet out and Aziraphale leaned forward, closed his eyes, and inhaled. Soft ringlets framed his face and Crowley wanted to tuck them behind his ears. 

Aziraphale took the bouquet from him and clutched it carefully to his chest. “They're beautiful. I'm so partial to marigolds now…”

He miracled a vase and sat it and the flowers on the entrance table. He gave them one more affectionate gaze before turning towards Crowley with the same look in his eye. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today, Crowley?”

The angel stared at him knowingly, expectantly, hopefully. 

Suddenly everything felt wrong. Or not _wrong_ , but Crowley didn't know what he was supposed to do with himself. The reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. What level of distance was he supposed to apply to this situation? Was he Crowley proposing to Aziraphale or was he Mister Crowley proposing to Miss Fell? Both, he supposed, but he still hadn't--he hadn't _said_ \--neither of them had said the words. Was this a charade? What were they doing?

His chest felt tight and he was lightheaded. 

“Uh. Can we sit down?”

Aziraphale frowned at him in concern. “Of course, dear. Are you feeling all right? The study is just through here--”

“Can we sit on the stairs?” His legs would surely collapse before they carried him into another room. 

“Of course. Here, let me.” Aziraphale took Crowley's arm in his, all pretense forgotten. He held Crowley’s hand with a sturdy grip and led them to the stairs. They sat down and Crowley squeezed his hand tightly. Aziraphale squeezed back. 

“Thanks. Um. I know I promised you the best proposal I've ever given you but I think I'm already cocking it up.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “You're doing wonderfully. Please continue. Although, could I?” He raised his hand to touch the edge of his glasses and Crowley nodded. Aziraphale removed them and set them gently on a higher step.

Aziraphale loved his eyes and Crowley was constantly touched by much happier and relaxed Aziraphale became when he could see them. His heart clenched. He loved this stupid, brilliant, maddening, wondrous angel so much. _That’s_ why they were doing this. Just so they could spend time together. Because Aziraphale wanted to spend time with him. 

The angel’s small anticipatory smile and the patient affection in his eyes gave him the courage to keep going.

“You’re my best friend, angel. I know we shouldn’t be saying stuff like that out loud, but there’s a lot of things we shouldn’t be doing.” Aziraphale blushed and Crowley placed his other hand on top of Aziraphale’s, cradling it in his palms. “This planet would be a lot less enjoyable if I didn’t have someone to share it with. Um. I’d be… _happy_ to keep sharing it with you for however long we have in Vienna. And obviously beyond Vienna, but for the purposes of this proposal.” 

He twisted his body so he was half-kneeling on the step below them. He tried not to kick at any of the books with his feet.

“Miss Eliza Fell, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Aziraphale settled his other hand on top of Crowley's and stroked the back of it lightly with his thumb. “Ask _me_ , Crowley.”

His blue eyes were shimmering and Crowley’s entire being was being pulled further and further into their depths. He swallowed.

“Aziraphale, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” It came immediately, breathlessly. Crowley laughed a little in disbelief, as if this wasn’t Aziraphale’s idea, as if he would say no, as if it was as real as he wanted it to be. Aziraphale laughed a little too and gripped his hands tighter. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered down to his lips and _oh_ , suddenly kissing Aziraphale was absolutely necessary to his continued existence.

“Aziraphale, please let me kiss you. Please. Please, I need to kiss you--”

“Yes, yes, yes.” And they crashed into each other, hands coming up to each other’s faces and kissing like they were starved for it. Aziraphale whimpered against his mouth and buried his fingers in his hair and it was so good and it had been _years_. He parted his lips and Aziraphale slipped his tongue in eagerly. After two months of abstaining and Aziraphale’s constant teases, he was quickly getting hard in his trousers. 

Aziraphale tugged on his hair and Crowley groaned into his mouth. He groaned again when Aziraphale swung his leg over Crowley’s lap and straddled his hips, pressing them down firmly against Crowley’s erection. 

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured. He ran his hands down Aziraphale’s bare arms, down his ribs, giving a gentle squeeze which caused Aziraphale to yelp and then moan. He trailed lower, bunching the delicate muslin layers of his dress as he ran his hands up and down the angel’s plush thighs. 

Aziraphale hitched himself higher on Crowley’s lap and began grinding down insistently. Crowley tugged his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away and mouthed down his neck to the top of his breasts. He nosed along the swell of his right breast, licked at the dip between them causing Aziraphale to gasp and press Crowley further into his cleavage. He nipped lightly, cupped one of them in his left hand and moaned in unison with Aziraphale as he swiped his thumb insistently at a hard nipple.

“I’m going to fucking _worship_ these,” he growled against Aziraphale’s skin. 

“Oh, oh, darling.” Aziraphale’s fingers continued to move through his hair before he felt them pulling him away. “Oh no, no, we can’t, we can’t. I wanted to wait for the wedding. Please, let’s just wait a little bit longer, just a couple of weeks.”

“ _Two months_ , Aziraphale. And you’ve been _teasing_. Asking me not to touch myself.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. “Have you, Crowley? Have you left our meetings and touched yourself while thinking of me just like this?” Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s thigh. His face was still so close to his breasts and he rested his forehead against them.

“No,” he whispered. “Because you asked me not to.”

Aziraphale exhaled just as sharply and tilted Crowley’s head up with a finger under his chin. Aziraphale’s eyes looked just as desperate and hungry as he felt.

“Oh, _good boy_ ,” he whispered. Crowley pulled immediately away from him, leaned back as far as he could and removed his hands. He was going to come immediately in his trousers if he didn’t stay completely still. He held his breath just to make sure.

Aziraphale smirked wickedly and climbed off his lap to sit on the step beside him. Crowley groaned loudly in frustration, head thunking back against a stair. 

“Is the goal to kill me, Aziraphale? Has this actually been the longest con of our lives?”

Aziraphale giggled. “Only a little death, dearest.”

“You won’t even give me that!”

He lolled his head to the side and tried to fix Aziraphale with a stern glare, but they both just laughed. _We’re going to live together and I’m going to hear his laugh every single day_.

“Do you--do you still have your ring?” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet.

“Of course, angel.” He kept it in a small box on his dresser and had taken to wearing it when he was alone and missing Aziraphale particularly strongly. He kept it safe with him whenever he moved on to a new location. “Do you?”

The angel nodded and smiled. 

“Good. We can give them back to each other before the ceremony to exchange.” 

They sat in companionable silence on the stairs. Crowley closed his eyes, just enjoying Aziraphale sitting next to him. After several moments, he heard Aziraphale inhale and he knew what was coming. 

“Crowley--”

“I know, angel. I have to leave.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to stay. I do. We just have to--”

Crowley opened his eyes and smiled at him. “I know. It’s really okay. I get it.” He reached for his sunglasses and placed them on before stretching his legs and using the banister to pull himself up. He extended his hand to Aziraphale and they walked down the stairs. 

They stood in front of the door and Crowley raised Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. He kissed his fingers reverently before turning the hand over to kiss at his palm. He kissed his wrist, unable to do anything else to show his gratitude and love.

“Crowley.”

He kissed up Aziraphale’s forearm to the crook of his elbow.

“ _Crowley_.”

He placed Aziraphale’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around the angel’s waist to pull him closer. He planted a final kiss at Aziraphale’s upper arm and grinned. “Just one more for the road.”

Aziraphale sighed in mock exasperation. “Oh, well, _all right_.” He slid his other arm around Crowley’s neck and Crowley pulled him closer. They kissed each other softly, none of the earlier desperation present as they just savored the feel of each other. Crowley dipped Aziraphale back and Aziraphale hummed before he stood them back upright and they broke apart. 

They held each other for one more brief moment before Crowley opened the door and walked outside. He waved. “See you tomorrow, angel.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and didn’t even care that he looked like a lovesick idiot as he beamed and walked down the street, feeling lighter than he had in ages.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A direct continuation of a previous chapter? In MY fic? It's more likely than you think.

**1796**

They announced their engagement the following day to their social circle and were met with many congratulations.

Joseph and Lena Koller were particularly effusive with their praise.

“We just knew you two were it. On our first outing together, I kept telling Joseph that you two seemed as if you’d known each other for ages. I know you were previously acquainted in London, but there was something _more_. There’s an ease between you that you seldom see in a couple. Oh, I’m just overjoyed for you both.” Lena hugged Aziraphale and Crowley shook Joseph’s outstretched hand. 

“I generally have less to say than my wife does, but I wholeheartedly agree. Congratulations.”

Aziraphale beamed at the couple. “Thank you both. We’re very happy. We actually discussed it briefly during the proposal, I know it’s improper, but we were so excited. Lena, given your penchant for hosting and how your gardens will be dormant soon, I so hoped you’d agree to letting us wed on your grounds. It is obviously a place of special significance to us and they’re just so well kept and beautiful. I hope it’s not too much of an imposition to ask.”

Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was talking about, but he would marry him in fucking space if the angel asked him to.

Lena lit up and clasped Aziraphale’s hands excitedly. “I’d be _honored_. What a lovely idea. Please, come visit me again tomorrow morning and we can discuss it further. Oh, I know an incredible baker who would love to prepare your cake.”

Aziraphale gave an excited wiggle. “Yes, the food is _definitely_ a priority.”

Crowley resisted smiling too broadly before he realized: he didn’t have to anymore. Their corporations definitely appeared older than the typical newlyweds, but age shouldn’t stop him from being happy about being in love or being excited about his upcoming nuptials. The general public would be _expecting_ them to be affectionate with each other. And they had time to be. Lord, he hoped that they had so much time.

They said their goodbyes and Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Not that I mind, but why were you so insistent on getting married in their gardens?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Do you want to spend our wedding night tending to your feet after standing in a church?” 

“Oh, right.”

“Besides.” He paused. “I think it would be quite fitting to get married in a garden, don’t you?”

All of the air rushed out of his lungs. The meaning left him dizzy.

How could Aziraphale not love him too? They talked freely with each other about everything else, had danced so close to it, but they could never acknowledge this unspoken truth between them. But he needed to _know_ , needed to be sure before he found his courage to confess.

“I can’t believe I’m still not allowed to kiss you publicly yet.”

“Three more weeks,” Aziraphale promised.

“Three weeks,” Crowley agreed. He kissed Aziraphale’s gloved hand. “I should be off. Loads of paperwork to forge to make this thing official.” Aziraphale crinkled his eyes.

“Yes, I have some errands to run myself. I’d love if you could stop by Lena’s tomorrow around noon for lunch. I’m sure by that point she’ll have talked herself out of some of her crazier ideas.”

“Tomorrow, angel. See you then.”

The next three weeks passed in a blur and suddenly Crowley found himself dressing for the wedding. He adjusted his cravat and was surprised at how calm he felt after he’d given himself permission to just enjoy himself. He didn’t know how long they would have before their next assignments and he wasn’t going to waste his time worrying about things that could be worried about in the future.

He was here. He was marrying Aziraphale (again, but never like this). He was happy and in love and Aziraphale cared greatly for him, too. It was enough.

It was enough. 

And then he was at the end of the aisle and their friends were standing and Aziraphale was walking towards him, his cheeks round and pink as he beamed at Crowley. Crowley took in his exquisite dress, covered in layers of floral lace and intricate beading - Crowley smiled, his angel, prissy as always - and the veil which covered the pale blonde curls atop his head. He was radiant, resplendent, his angelic aura just peeking through. Crowley matched his smile as he came closer and finally stood before him. 

“Hi,” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Hey,” he whispered back. 

Crowley didn't remember the vows or really anything else that was said during the ceremony. It was irrelevant. The same vows for mortals that had gone through a hundred different iterations didn't matter. 

What mattered was how Aziraphale didn't look away from him during the entire ceremony. What mattered was his stormy eyes sparkling with mirth and their hands clasped warm and safe together. What mattered was that Crowley, for the first time in his existence, was absolutely positive that Aziraphale was in love with him too. 

He felt exuberant, lighter than air, so utterly serene in this new knowledge, like it was a warm, comforting blanket draping over his shoulders. 

They were going to be okay, no matter how long this lasted.

The reception’s details were similarly unimportant. There was a large tiered cake with elaborate marzipan decorations in the center of a large table laden with additional desserts, apple strudels and linzer tortes. 

There was a disastrous first dance that ended with them tripping over each other and Crowley nearly elbowing Aziraphale in the face. It was truly a miracle that Aziraphale’s dress stayed perfect through the whole ordeal. 

But what Crowley remembered was his hand at the small of Aziraphale’s back and the angel leaning against his side. He remembered Aziraphale’s fingers tracing his sleeve, sending tingles up his arm while they conversed. He remembered Aziraphale placing his hand high up on his thigh under the table and _squeezing_ , a promise of _not much longer now, darling. Soon._

The night finally wrapped up and Aziraphale thanked Lena and Joseph again for their kindness and hospitality. They climbed into their private carriage and sat opposite each other as their journey to Crowley’s villa, their new home, began. 

Crowley moved to sit next to Aziraphale, but Aziraphale pushed him gently back with a hand to his chest. “Patience, dearest. Soon. So soon.”

He scowled and took his glasses off, shoving them hastily into his jacket pocket. He spread his legs wide to make sure Aziraphale knew how affected he was and then gazed hungrily at him, refusing to be evasive in his desire.

He started with the crown of curls atop Aziraphale’s head, imagined running his fingers through them, pulling pins out, and tugging sharply. He looked at Aziraphale’s eyes, widened in shock at Crowley’s brazen display. His lips were painted a pale pink and they were plump and sumptuous and looked like they’d been kissed for hours. His neck was a pale, flawless column that Crowley would definitely be claiming ownership of with deep purpling marks. And then down to his breasts and _fuck_ , they were rising and falling steadily with the angel’s quickening breaths under Crowley’s lustful attention. He wanted them in his hands, in his mouth, wanted to kiss and suck and _squeeze_.

He moved down to his thighs and Aziraphale parted them eagerly. The angel moved his hands down to rub small circles with his thumbs around his knees, along the inside of his thighs. He’d gone from looking at Crowley in shock to running his own gaze along Crowley’s body with equal fervor.

The angel’s gaze landed on the prominent bulge in his trousers and he licked his lips. Crowley groaned and his hips bucked. Aziraphale whimpered at the movement. 

The tension in the small carriage was palpable as they continued to rake their eyes greedily along each other’s bodies. It was so fucking hot that Crowley wanted to thank Aziraphale profusely and eagerly for this teasing game they’d played for three months.

The carriage finally arrived at the villa and they climbed out, barely containing themselves as they made their way up to the front door. 

Crowley went to unlock the door before he hesitated. He snapped his fingers and the door swung open. 

“Let me carry you over the threshold.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Isn't that superstition supposed to ward off demons? I think it would defeat the purpose if a demon was the one doing the carrying.”

Crowley scooped him up in his arms and Aziraphale shrieked and flailed his arms. “Crowley!”

He held Aziraphale in his arms and carried him confidently across the doorway. He locked the door and lit the lanterns in the foyer with a snap before setting Aziraphale down and surging forward, capturing his lips in a filthy kiss as he pinned his wrists to the wall. Aziraphale moaned into his open mouth and Crowley swallowed it down possessively.

“Oh, Crowley, please, please, please. We waited so long, I need you.”

Crowley mouthed hot and wet against his jawline before sucking his earlobe into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Aziraphale whimpered. He shoved his knee between Aziraphale’s thighs and the angel cried out gratefully as he grinded down against him. Crowley rocked his cock forcefully against his hip.

“I'm gonna hold your hand every day,” he growled against his ear. Aziraphale moaned and pressed himself harder against Crowley’s thigh. 

“ _Oh_ , oh _yes_ , what else? Tell me, Crowley.”

“Gonna kiss you in the broad daylight.” Aziraphale shoved desperately at his coat and Crowley wriggled his shoulders to slip it off his body. Aziraphale made quick work of his cravat and placed a kiss against his throat before working his way down the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat. 

“Gonna take you to symphonies and plays and walks in the park-- _fuck_ , angel.” Aziraphale pushed his shirt off his shoulders and pulled Crowley’s undershirt over his head. Crowley threw it to the side and Aziraphale ducked his head to graze his teeth at his nipples. He groaned and pressed Aziraphale closer to the wall.

“And then I'm gonna take you back here, to _our bed_ in _our home_ and show you just how _good_ of a husband I am.”

Aziraphale whined and straightened up to pull Crowley closer and kiss him urgently. Aziraphale’s lips were fucking perfect and sinful and when he darted his tongue out to meet Crowley’s, the demon sucked it into his mouth. The angel’s hands roamed in broad strokes over his bare back and then scratched down it, streaks of fire that went straight to his cock. 

“Need you out of this dress, angel,” he growled and unpinned Aziraphale’s veil from his hair. Aziraphale turned around and Crowley began working at the buttons roughly.

“Oh, darling, please be careful. This dress is so exquisitely made--”

“The fact that I’m not tearing it off you right now should be enough, Aziraphale.” He slowed his pace as much as he could, got distracted cupping Aziraphale’s left breast and grinding his erection against his arse. Finally Aziraphale shrugged the dress off his shoulders, slipped his arms through the long sleeves, and stepped out of it, kicking off his shoes in the process.

He turned back around and stood up on stockinged toes, throwing his arms around Crowley’s neck and kissing him fiercely. Crowley held him close and ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, pulling out pins so his long blonde curls fell and pooled around his shoulders.

“Take me to bed, Crowley. Take me to _our_ bed.” _Our bed, our home, ours, ours, ours._

They managed to stumble their way down the hall to the bedroom, only stopping to kiss or touch twice. Aziraphale stood in front of the large bed and Crowley hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled his boots and stockings off his feet. He stood just in his trousers and Aziraphale looked over his body hungrily. 

“I’d almost forgotten how handsome and pleasing your body is, dearest.” He licked his lips. “I asked you during the proposal if you had thought about me after we met. I thought about you, Crowley. Every time we departed, it was like my body, my _soul_ were aflame for you. I would come home, strip down, and look in the mirror. I’d imagine you standing behind me, running your exquisite hands all over my body. My neck…” He lifted his hand and splayed his fingers across his throat. 

“My shoulders.” He trailed his hand down to his shoulders and Crowley couldn’t drag his eyes away. He simultaneously could feel Aziraphale’s hands on him and Aziraphale’s warm skin under his own. Aziraphale’s hand moved lower, skirting over his collarbone and resting lightly at the top of his cleavage. Crowley inhaled sharply.

“My--my _breasts_. Goodness, Crowley, I could feel you staring at them behind your glasses.” He gave the soft flesh a squeeze and moaned. His hands weren’t large enough to cup them and Crowley whimpered as they pillowed through his fingers. Aziraphale’s hands moved lower and he began unlacing his stays with trembling fingers.

“Do you remember the soiree the Maiers threw two months ago? I wore something a little more _daring_ than I usually do. A little more _sheer_. I wore it to tease you, and I was so pleased that it worked. You couldn’t keep your eyes off me from across the room and I could see you sneaking glances when we stood next to each other. 

“It took all of my will to not ravish you right then. To not drag you away and have you bend me over a table, still fully clothed, and have you fill me up with your thick cock. Then I thought about us returning to the party, your seed dripping down my legs, no one the wiser, and _oh_.” He groaned and reached behind his back as he unfastened the clasps of his petticoat. “When I arrived home that night, I seriously considered tying myself up because I didn’t know how I would survive not touching myself. But I abstained, because I knew how good this would be if we resisted.”

His petticoat fell to the floor and he stepped out of it, standing only in his sheer shift and stockings. His dusky nipples perked through the fabric and the outline of his curves, the crux between his legs was barely hidden.

Crowley stood frozen, entranced by Aziraphale’s words. His cock ached painfully in his trousers and he felt a warm flush crawl from his face down his chest. “Angel,” he croaked.

Aziraphale smiled. “I… I don’t want to resist anymore, Crowley. _Please_.” 

Crowley knew he wasn’t just talking about their abstinence and he swept forward and hoisted Aziraphale onto the bed. The angel laughed in delight and then gasped as Crowley held him tight and mouthed at his nipples through the fabric. He clutched Crowley’s head closer, his fingers clenching and unclenching with the demon’s ministrations. 

Crowley tugged one of his nipples between his teeth before releasing it and burying his face between Aziraphale’s breasts. He nuzzled closer to lick and suck deep, purpling marks into the angel’s pale skin and he felt Aziraphale’s low hum reverberate through his chest. He ran the edge of his nail along one of Aziraphale’s nipples over and over and Aziraphale clutched him tightly to his chest as he whined.

He kissed and sucked his way up Aziraphale’s throat before claiming his lips again, sliding his tongue along Aziraphale’s. He ran his hand up Aziraphale’s leg, pushed the shift up his thighs, and groaned as he felt how slick he was between his legs. Aziraphale’s breath caught. 

“Take this off _now_ ,” he gritted out and Aziraphale rushed to comply, hoisting the shift off his body and tossing it off to the side as Crowley rolled his stockings down his legs. Crowley took a moment to appreciate Aziraphale, finally naked, in front of him. His breasts, perfect, heavy, and slightly uneven, his plush rolls around his middle, his thick thighs glistening in the candlelight. He looked like the very picture of indulgence, a small satisfied smirk playing at his lips as Crowley took his fill. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered and Aziraphale blushed.

“Oh, now really. Take your trousers off, dear. I want to see you, too.”

Crowley pushed his trousers down, relief flooding through him as his cock finally bounced free of its confines. He kicked them off his legs and Aziraphale looked him up and down with satisfaction.

“Absolutely gorgeous. Oh, and you’re positively dripping. Let me take care of you, darling.”

Crowley shuffled forward until his cock bobbed in front of Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale took it in hand, using his precome to glide up and down the shaft and Crowley let out an embarrassing whine, finally being touched after months of denial.

Aziraphale hummed contentedly, keeping his grip tight and his pace steady. Crowley closed his eyes and rocked his hips forward into Aziraphale’s grasp.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

He felt Aziraphale release his cock and his eyes flew open, his mouth about to protest before he looked down and saw Aziraphale holding a breast in each hand. Crowley’s mouth went dry.

“Would you like to--well, I mean, would you like to fuck them?”

He had to breathe deeply through his nose so he wouldn’t come.

“ _Fuck_ yes, angel.” 

He stepped closer and Aziraphale shifted closer to the edge of the bed. He slicked his hand miraculously and gave his cock several pumps, twisting over the head as he did. He settled his cock in the channel between Aziraphale’s breasts and groaned as Aziraphale pushed them together. They were hot and impossibly, pillowy soft. He settled his thumbs over Aziraphale’s nipples and began to thrust shallowly, teasing and pinching his nipples in time with his thrusts. The head of his cock peeked through with every motion and both he and Aziraphale moaned as he increased his pace.

“Fuck, Aziraphale. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

It wasn't long before he felt his climax approaching and he groaned. 

“Angel, angel I'm gonna--”

“Let go, Crowley. You _deserve_ this. You've been so accommodating of all of my whims. Come, Crowley.”

He gave one final push and then made a choked noise as his orgasm surged through him, setting his whole body alight. He pulsed strands of come over Aziraphale, hitting across his throat and pooling in the channel between his breasts, slicking it further. 

He slipped his cock out and Aziraphale looked down. “Look at the mess you made, darling.” He swiped a finger through Crowley’s come and brought it to his lips. “Mmm.”

Crowley tackled Aziraphale backwards on the bed and the angel laughed and hummed happily against Crowley’s lips. Crowley snapped his fingers to clean up the truly obscene amount of come between them and then slipped his hand between Aziraphale's thighs, groaning again at just how _wet_ he was. 

He ran his finger along Aziraphale's slit and Aziraphale gasped against his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, touch me, please.”

He slid two fingers into Aziraphale's velvet heat easily and lazily dragged his fingers in and out. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around him and Crowley kissed down his neck. 

“So beautiful, angel. My beautiful wife.”

“Mm, my handsome husband.”

They rocked steadily against each other until Aziraphale tilted his hips, trying to take Crowley’s fingers faster, deeper. 

“Someone's eager.” Crowley grinned. 

Aziraphale fixed him with a stern look. “May I remind you that I've been waiting at least as long as you _and_ you've already come. Now shut up and either add another finger or get your mouth on me or _something_.”

Crowley grinned and kissed him again. “Anything you want, angel.” He removed his hand and moved down Aziraphale’s body. “Although, I don't know if I would've married you if I knew you were this demanding.”

“You love that about me,” Aziraphale exhaled. 

Crowley paused between his thighs and looked up at him. Aziraphale smiled softly. 

“Yeah, I do.”

He nudged Aziraphale's thighs over his shoulders so he could move closer and gave an experimental lick which caused Aziraphale to cry out above him. 

“Please. I'm so close already, just get on with it.”

“Fussy,” he muttered into his thigh before giving it a quick nip. He decided to take pity on Aziraphale, the desperation of his own need only mitigated by his earlier orgasm. He slid his tongue into Aziraphale’s cunt and gathered the hot slick on his tongue before swirling it around his hard clit. Aziraphale's hands came to tangle in his hair and Crowley sucked hard. Aziraphale cried out again and started grinding his hips against Crowley’s face. 

Crowley took it in stride, gripping hard onto his thigh and pulling him closer, swirling and flicking his tongue faster, tighter. He could feel Aziraphale's juices coating his face and he was so dizzy from desire he thought he would come again.

He slid three fingers inside, crooked them just so, and then Aziraphale's thighs clamped around his head as he lifted his hips and he came. Pulses of warm liquid gushed over his fingers and chin and he lapped it up eagerly. After the aftershocks resounded through his body, Aziraphale grabbed at his wrist and Crowley reluctantly removed his fingers. 

He crawled back up the bed, cleaning the mess on his face with a flick of a finger, and laid next to Aziraphale who looked absolutely blissed out. His eyes were heavy and lidded, his smile crooked and lazy. His body was pink with exertion and his chest rose and fell in steady movements as he caught his breath. 

Crowley was about to do the bravest, stupidest thing he'd ever done. He couldn’t hold it back any longer, had never been so fucking sure.

“Do you know what else I love about you?”

Aziraphale turned his head to look at him, the look in his eyes focused through the post-orgasm haze. “What else?” he whispered. 

Crowley scooted closer and brushed a loose curl behind Aziraphale's ear. 

“I love how intelligent you are. How witty.”

Aziraphale inhaled and held onto Crowley’s wrist. “What else?”

“I love how indulgent you are.” 

Aziraphale brought Crowley's hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. 

“What else?”

“I love how stubborn you are.”

“I am _not_ \--” Crowley quirked an eyebrow and Aziraphale huffed. “Okay, fine.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s palm. “What else?”

“I love how kind you are. I love how you try your hardest to see the good in people even when it's nearly impossible.” He swallowed and felt tears prick his eyes. “I love how you've always seen the best in me, even when I definitely don't deserve it.”

Aziraphale kissed each of his fingers in turn reverently, a question in his eyes. 

Crowley closed his eyes and steeled himself. He opened them again and Aziraphale was desperately searching his gaze.

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, and then a smile burst forth on his face, more brilliant and blinding than any Crowley had seen before. Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled in elation and Crowley couldn't help but smile too. 

Aziraphale pulled them close and kissed him, as much as it could be called a kiss when they were both smiling so much. Aziraphale pressed their foreheads together. 

“Oh, I love you too, my darling demon. My love. My Crowley.”

Crowley knew that there were certain events in his life that were firmly divided into Before and After. His Fall, meeting Aziraphale, the Arrangement. Even kissing Aziraphale for the first time, having sex with him, wasn’t as firm a line as this was: the emotions he’d been carrying around for too long to even fathom finally being reciprocated, lifted and supported by Aziraphale. No matter how long they had in Vienna, no matter what was thrown at them, he knew that this After would forever be better than the Before.

He sat up and rubbed his thighs. “Come here, angel.” 

Aziraphale clambered onto his lap and straddled his waist. Crowley pulled him close and buried his nose in Aziraphale’s neck. He ran his hands slowly over every inch of Aziraphale’s skin he could reach, broad sweeping strokes up his back, back down his arms, a brush down his ribs and firm caresses along his thighs. Aziraphale seemed just as eager to just touch and savor him as well. The angel’s hands curled in his hair, traced along the shells of his ears and tugged on his earlobes. 

He wanted to remember every sense of this memory, every touch, every sound, every single atom of this moment in time, the happiest he’d ever been. 

Aziraphale leaned back and cradled his face in his hands. “Make love to me, Crowley,” he whispered. 

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off Aziraphale’s face as the angel lifted his hips and Crowley guided his cock to his entrance. He sank down and they both exhaled in the same breath. Crowley kissed him and they moved slowly in tandem, Crowley lifting his hips and Aziraphale rolling his forwards. 

Crowley didn’t know how long they moved together, tongues running along lips and teeth and other tongues, and hands caressing everywhere they could. He was holding his world in his arms and Aziraphale _loved him too_ and nothing would ever matter again but that. They were finally, _finally_ on the same page and in it together.

It was just Aziraphale and Crowley, no more barriers between them.

The steady simmer of heat in his core was reaching a boil and he could tell Aziraphale was close too, his little hitching breaths getting steadily higher. 

“Angel, can you come for me?” He kissed under Aziraphale’s chin. 

“Want you to come too. Want to feel you come inside me.” 

He tilted his hips up and thrust in faster. Aziraphale threw his head back before looking him in the eyes again. His walls started to flutter around his cock. “My darling, my _love_ , oh please come, please come, I love you, Crowley, I love you, I love you, I love you--”

Crowley came with a low whimper and Aziraphale followed close behind, pulsing around his cock and milking him for everything he had. Crowley pressed his nose into Aziraphale’s cheek and kissed him, moved to kiss his lips, his eyelids, his forehead, his temple. He was startled to feel hot tears running down his own cheeks.

Aziraphale smiled at him and wiped them away. “Dearest,” he whispered fondly.

“I’m okay. It’s just. I never. I didn’t know if I’d ever say it. Didn’t know if you’d say it back.” He sniffed and held Aziraphale closer. And then, just to prove he still could, that this was real. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Come, let’s lie down.”

They cleaned up their mess and then snuggled under the covers, tangling their limbs and pressing closer, closer, refusing to be apart again. Crowley twirled one of Aziraphale’s curls around his fingers and Aziraphale nuzzled further into his chest.

“Thank you, Crowley.”

He tugged on the curl. “For what?”

“For saying it first.”

They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms plenty of times, but never this close, never this perfectly. Aziraphale had never been the one to tuck himself under Crowley’s chin, had never curled himself just so, so that Crowley could fully hold _him_. But the weight that Aziraphale’s own confession held had lifted off him and Crowley was moved at his vulnerability.

He squeezed Aziraphale to him tightly and kissed his forehead. He was going to treasure every single moment of this that he was allowed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just really think about how much these two love each other and start crying? That was me this whole chapter while listening to David Tennant's cover of "Sunshine on Leith" on repeat
> 
> Update: I commissioned my friend bilarzo to draw two things from this chapter and [just look at how perfect they are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690222/chapters/55084030)! I cannot stop looking at them. 
> 
> Follow her on AO3 and on Instagram @bilarzo!


	10. Chapter 10

**1799**

Their third anniversary was going perfectly.

Every single day of the past three years had gone perfectly. Any day that Crowley was allowed to wake up with Aziraphale in his bed - in _their_ bed - either with the angel’s limbs curled around him, snoring softly or sitting up in bed reading a book and drinking a cup of tea was perfect in his estimation.

Crowley hadn’t fully realized the weight of keeping his love to himself until it was lifted off his shoulders. He was an Atlas liberated from his burden and buoyed by his angel’s love. 

It’d taken him a little bit to get used to the fact that he was allowed to say the words. The day after their wedding, they were eating breakfast and Aziraphale was pontificating on the finer points of stone fruit. Crowley rested his hand on his chin and thought _I love you_. Several minutes later as Aziraphale took a bite of toast, Crowley exclaimed “Oh! I love you! I thought that earlier, but I forgot I can say it now. I love you.”

Aziraphale smirked and had taken him immediately back to bed and “I love you” never stopped feeling like a revelation in his mouth.

Crowley made good on everything he promised that night. They held hands every day. They kissed in broad daylight (and did some other things in broad daylight that sometimes were but sometimes weren’t assisted by a cloaking miracle. All were definitely too scandalous for the time period). 

He’d taken him to plays and long walks in the park where they strolled through extravagant gardens and fed ducks at the lakes. Later in the winter, they would skate on those same lakes, laughing and clutching tightly to each other as they tried not to fall.

He’d taken them to symphonies (he had to admit that Vienna really was having a cultural revolution) where they teased each other mercilessly in their private box and then he took them back home, to their bed, and showed Aziraphale just how good of a husband he was.

He bought Aziraphale gifts and brought him his tea and rubbed his feet as they lounged. He even learned how to bake bread and the first loaf he brought Aziraphale, misshapen and too close-textured, produced a beaming smile so bright it could have powered the entire city. He hadn’t expected to revel in domesticity so much.

But beyond the physical affection and the words of affirmation, there was the simple intimacy of sharing his life with the being he loved best. Every moment of private laughter, every late night where they shared and soothed away each other’s insecurities, every greeting as one of them arrived home or kiss goodbye as they left shored up the fault lines around his heart. Aziraphale returning his love confirmed that they could be more than the heavy expectations placed on them by Heaven and Hell. 

He knew the other shoe would drop eventually, but he was emboldened now and knew they could face anything as long as they had each other.

They spent the morning of their third anniversary at Aziraphale’s favorite bakery and then wandered the local markets where they bought food for a picnic and small trinkets for each other. They ate happily and dozed lazily in the late summer sun before they returned home, stumbling over the door frame, drunk with wine and love and lust. 

They made their way to the study which temporarily housed Aziraphale’s books as he slowly shipped them to England. Several pots of greenery were placed in the windows, including their everlasting marigold. 

Crowley walked Aziraphale backwards into the room, kissing him hungrily. 

“Have you had a good day so far?” he asked between kisses. 

“Mmm, the best,” Aziraphale replied. He pushed Crowley’s coat off his shoulders and grabbed at his arse before tugging his shirt free from trousers. “Thank you, love.”

They left a trail of their outer clothes throughout the room before Crowley hoisted Aziraphale up onto the writing desk. Aziraphale hooked his ankles around the small of Crowley’s back and pulled him closer. He lifted his shift and petticoat so Crowley could rub up against him directly. 

“Oh, you feel _marvelous_ , darling.”

Crowley continued to rut against Aziraphale and tilted the angel’s neck to kiss and nibble at the soft flesh. 

“Mmm, Crowley.” Aziraphale scratched his nails at the nape of Crowley’s neck and set his other hand down on the desk. 

Crowley ran his hand along Aziraphale’s thigh and sucked below his earlobe as the angel turned his head to the side. 

“Crowley.”

He tugged on his earlobe with his teeth. 

“Crowley.”

“Mm, what angel?”

“ _Crowley_.”

There was a note of fear in his voice and Crowley pulled back. His eyes were wide and he was looking at the desk. Crowley glanced down and ice ran through his veins. 

A dark charcoal envelope sat next to a pale lavender envelope, each embossed with their respective head office’s seals. They sat wide-eyed and frozen. 

“Why did we both get one? Do they know? Crowley, what if someone saw?”

“No one saw. Besides, we have our cover stories. No one saw.”

They continued to stare. 

“We need to open them.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, _Crowley_. We--we need to know what they say.”

Crowley stepped back so Aziraphale could slip off the desk. The angel handed him the darker envelope with trembling hands. 

He took it from him and ran his finger under the seal. He saw Aziraphale do the same to his envelope out of the corner of his eye. 

He skimmed the letter. Saw _reassignment_ and _immediately_ and _Venezuela_. He looked it over a couple more times and then peered up at Aziraphale, who looked about how he felt. 

It wasn't fucking fair, was the thing. Three years was nothing, absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of their lives and it was all coming to an end too soon. They would be fine. He had an absolute, unwavering faith in their devotion to each other, couldn't help it after everything they'd shared. But the idea of going months, let alone the possibility of fucking _years_ without seeing Aziraphale was unbearable. Not after he'd grown accustomed to his presence by his side for years. 

“I've been reassigned.” Aziraphale’s voice was tight, his throat heavy with emotion.

“Me too.”

“Where?” they asked simultaneously. 

“Japan.”

“Venezuela.”

“Oh,” they said. 

Across the whole goddamn Pacific Ocean. Blasted bloody _fuck_. He paced the room, trying to get his simmering anger under control. They would think of _something_ just to give them a little more time...

“Did they say why? In your letter.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet. 

Crowley scanned it again. “Something about civil unrest? It's always the same shit. How about yours?”

Aziraphale shook his head. He looked back down at the letter and tears welled in his eyes. Crowley stopped in his tracks, all anger melting into a need to comfort Aziraphale. He closed the gap between them and took the letter out of Aziraphale’s hands and set them both on the desk. He held Aziraphale close and Aziraphale let out a single sob into his shoulder. 

“Hey, come on, angel. It'll be okay. We'll be okay. They don't know. If they did, we’d probably have been ambushed by now. I think it's just a coincidence that these came at the same time.”

“I don't want this to end. I don't want to leave Vienna. We’re--we’re _safe_ here.”

“Let's get one thing straight - we are not ending. I love you, Aziraphale. I've loved you through every time and distance we've spent apart. And I don't intend to stop that frankly outrageous level of devotion now.”

He couldn’t tell if Aziraphale’s hiccup was a laugh or another cry. He held him closer and tried to keep his voice from shaking. “We’ll find a way back to each other. We always do. We can write each other letters.”

Such a pathetic concession, a pale imitation of what their life had been in Vienna. How did he survive being apart from Aziraphale for more than a week before? He worked harder, he supposed. Tried to distract from the loneliness that crept in when he thought too long about Aziraphale. How had that been his entire life on this planet? He knew he enjoyed himself, enjoyed humanity immensely without Aziraphale. He could do that again, surely. 

He didn’t really want to. 

“Can we sit down?” Aziraphale muttered into his shoulder.

“‘Course, angel.” 

They sat on the couch and Aziraphale rested his legs across Crowley’s lap and pressed up against his side. Crowley wrapped his arm around him and rested his head against Aziraphale’s.

“I know we talked about what would happen when this day came. I just wish it hadn’t happened on our anniversary.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to take that one up with God next time you talk to Her because She doesn’t really take my calls now. Although I’d _love_ if you would pass along a few messages for me--”

“I’m not in the mood for this, dear.”

“Sorry.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “When do you have to leave?”

“Next week.”

“Oh.”

They sat in oppressive silence. Aziraphale suddenly lifted his head and craned his neck to look over the room.

“Oh, the _books_! There’s still so many books to ship and I won’t even be there to receive them. What if something happens to them in the transit? I can’t miracle them over either - what if they get damaged?”

Crowley grinned despite himself. Aziraphale was a wonder.

“I’ll take care of it. We can pack them up this week and I’ll get them sent out and pop by the bookshop to make sure everything’s handled for you when you return.”

Aziraphale looked at him in awe. “Oh, Crowley, would you do that for me? It would ease my mind considerably.” 

“Of course, angel. It’s nothing.”

Aziraphale curled his hand at Crowley’s jaw and kissed him softly. Crowley covered his hand with his own and kissed back. 

“What do you want to do now?”

“I want to ignore all of this until tomorrow. It’s still our anniversary and I want to keep celebrating. I want to make love on this couch and make love in our bed and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Crowley nodded. “Good plan.”

Aziraphale crawled up onto his lap but despite their best efforts, the evening was more somber than their original plans. They kissed and touched and fucked unhurriedly, making sure to commit every touch, every sound to memory to tide them over in the days that would follow.

They didn’t leave each other’s side for the following week. They packed up Aziraphale’s books and his belongings and closed out their affairs in Vienna. Crowley arranged for a shipper to pick up the crates and they had one final tea with the Kollers. 

On Aziraphale’s last day, Crowley brought him to the train station and Aziraphale didn’t board until the absolute last minute. They held each other, kissed each other, promised to write and visit as soon as they could.

Aziraphale stepped up into the train car and Crowley didn’t release his hand. 

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

“I love you, Crowley,” he affirmed.

The train started up and it was only then that Crowley dropped his hand. He waited a couple seconds before he started walking down the train platform. He kept turning around to look back at Aziraphale and when the train finally pulled down the track, taking Aziraphale out of his sight for good, he wished God would strike him down into a pillar of salt right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, y'all


	11. Chapter 11

**1800**

“Crowley, you _have_ to be more careful!” Aziraphale walked around closing the shutters on the shop windows.

“It’s fine,” he drawled. “Gave ‘em a good show at the tailor shop. That’s probably why you’re still here, to be honest.”

Aziraphale locked the door carefully and then turned around to face Crowley. “Whatever do you mean?”

Crowley grinned. “Dressed one of the dummies up like an agent of Hell and put on a performance so masterful, our dearly departed friend Billy Shakes himself would have wept. Just said that the only being who can thwart me was you and that Hell should celebrate because Heaven was sending you away.”

Aziraphale laughed, harder than he had in the past nine months since he’d seen Crowley last. “You clever thing. Well, thank you very much, dear. I shudder to think what I would’ve done, being called back to home office, just before my shop opens.” He looked at Crowley’s face, at the long lines of him and the open smile on his face. He tried to find any difference between now and the last time he’d seen him, but there was nothing. He was exactly as he’d remembered. It had been _nine months_. “Before I saw you again.”

They remained in silence for only a moment more before they rushed across the room, swept each other up, and kissed. Aziraphale whimpered and crumpled the fabric of Crowley’s coat under his hands. Kissing Crowley was like coming home. The bone-deep relief of being held in his lover’s arms, of feeling Crowley’s soft lips under his again made the weight of the past nine months lift from his shoulders. 

They pulled back from each other and grinned. 

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, darling.”

They kissed again and Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, his nerves lighting up with the familiar sensation. A rush of warmth went through him, like his corporation had been stuck dormant under a winter frost and was blooming back to life as Crowley touched him. 

Aziraphale hummed and then opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, but Crowley pulled back. He pouted and the demon laughed. 

“I have a present for you, first. Can we--do you have anywhere to sit down yet?”

Aziraphale turned around in a circle and all he saw were the crates full of books and the bookshelves. “I really should get some furniture in here, shouldn’t I?”

“Where else am I going to take my afternoon naps?”

“Hush. You shan’t be napping in my shop.” He miracled a plush leather settee nestled among the shelves and Crowley draped himself on it, like it was already his. He held a paper-wrapped package in his hands and took his sunglasses off, shoving them into his pocket. He saw Crowley’s eyes and his breath caught. 

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here.”

“In the flesh. Come on.” 

Aziraphale crossed over to him and sat down on Crowley’s lap. The demon let out an “oof” but his arm came around to steady him immediately. Aziraphale’s eyes darted all over his face, a parched man finally slaking his thirst, and he couldn’t help but press a few more kisses all over Crowley’s face. 

“Darling, thank you. What did you bring me?”

Crowley smiled and set the parcel on Aziraphale’s lap. “Open it.”

He opened it slowly and meticulously, much to Crowley’s chagrin. When he pulled the paper aside, he gasped. 

“Are these from--”

“That chocolatier we used to visit, yeah. I might have stopped by before I made my way here.”

Aziraphale opened the box eagerly and saw a tray of intricate chocolates with various designs. “You remembered my favorites!”

“‘Course I did. Here, sit back. Let me.” Crowley took the box from his hands and selected a honeycomb chocolate. He pressed it to Aziraphale’s lips and the angel opened his mouth, tongue darting out to swipe at Crowley’s thumb before he bit down on the chocolate. The rich, crunchy honey melted with the soft, bitter chocolate and he moaned around it in his mouth. He swallowed and Crowley kissed the sweetness from his lips.

“They’re just as luscious as I remember. What a perfect gift, a taste of home. Thank you, Crowley.”

“Don’t mention it.” He picked up another and held it out. “Raspberry?”

“Please.”

Crowley continued to feed him chocolates and they told each other stories that they had forgotten to include in their letters.

“Peru is absolutely fantastic, you were right about that, angel. I popped over a couple times when I could because I know how much you love it. We should definitely take that vacation soon.”

Aziraphale gave a considering hum. “Maybe someday we’ll be able to.” He set his left hand on top of Crowley’s and laced their fingers together, raising their hands and kissed where their wedding bands met. He turned to face Crowley and pressed their foreheads together, nuzzled his nose against Crowley’s.

“I missed you so much, Crowley. It was like--do you know the feeling when our corporations stop breathing? We don’t actually need the oxygen, but after breathing it for so long, there’s a tightness in your chest that doesn’t really ever go away, even when you’re not thinking about it. Have you ever experienced that?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I missed you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale’s hands came up and he loosened Crowley’s cravat, kissed the exposed skin at his throat. 

“Are you back?” He kept kissing along Crowley’s neck, thought maybe if he could bury himself deep enough into the crook of Crowley’s shoulder, the answer wouldn’t almost definitely be a resounding--

“No.” Crowley sounded regretful and he squeezed his eyes shut to allow the moment of grief to wash over him. He sat back upright and looked at Crowley.

“I’m technically not even supposed to be here now, but I couldn’t--I couldn’t miss this. You’ve worked hard and I’m so proud of you for opening up this shop, Aziraphale. Even if it is mostly storage. I wanted to support my wife. My husband.”

Aziraphale waved his hand. “You know better than anyone that gendered terms are useless for us. I’ve been husband and wife both to you. Thank you, dearest. Your support means the world to me.”

He held Crowley’s face in his hands and studied the fine lines around his eyes, the hollow of his cheeks and the slope of his prominent chin. A sharp pang of lust tugged at his heart and he felt Crowley’s hand running firmly up and down his thigh, getting closer to his cock with each pass. He needed Crowley now, needed to be on top of him, underneath him. Needed to feel his skin under his hands and get his mouth on every inch of him. 

“Crowley?”

“ _Yes_ , angel.” 

Aziraphale crushed their lips together and swung his leg over Crowley’s lap so he was straddling him properly. He sucked Crowley’s tongue into his mouth and reached down between them to palm at Crowley’s rapidly hardening length under his trousers. Crowey groaned and dug his nails into Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale fiddled with the buttons of Crowley’s waistcoat, sense memory making quick work of them even after so long.

“My dear, as much as you know I’m not opposed to just _going at it_ wherever we may find ourselves, I think you’ll find that a very comfortable bedroom has miraculously appeared on the second floor of the shop and if you’d like to relocate--”

“Why do you always _talk_ so much?” Crowley was having a fight with his shirt buttons and losing. Aziraphale laughed and stilled the demon’s hands at his chest. “Let’s go upstairs, Crowley.”

“Yeah, yes, let’s go.”

* * *

My dearest Crowley,

My business has been open only a week and I have already been forced to sell ten books. The number would have been higher had I not managed to stave off the rest with the considerable persuasion skills that I’ve learned from you. I fear that I’ve made a grave mistake, pouring nearly a decade of my time into this endeavor. Perhaps it’s not too late to close my doors and relocate elsewhere.

I admit, the first book I sold delighted me. A lovely young woman came in looking for a gift for her sister and I had such fun discussing literature with her. I managed to find the perfect book. I wrapped it neatly, sent her on her way, and felt such a sense of accomplishment. My first sale! I am a real business owner!

Then the other nine transpired and I realized the gravity of my situation. I’m thinking of making my hours of business so erratic that no one could possibly figure out when I am open or when I am closed. I believe I’ll also have to make a large purchase of books that will not wither me when someone takes them from my shop.

I wish you were here to scare off the customers. You could skulk in the shadows as you’re so fond of doing, or perhaps turn into your snake form and slither near their ankles. I imagine people would be loath to shop at an establishment with a giant snake.

I wish you were here for other reasons as well, my love. Our time together last week was too brief and I find myself aching and longing for you at all hours of the day and night. I think of you every time I feed the ducks in the park and every time I see a man with hair of your color (though none could ever truly come close - the fire atop your head is beyond compare).

Truthfully, nearly everything I encounter reminds me of you in some way. We have spent too much time together, have experienced so much, that it would be impossible for it not to.

Please stay safe in Venezuela and return to me soon. I ache to hold you in my arms again. 

Yours, forever,  
Aziraphale

Angel,

I’m flattered you think I gave you persuasion skills, but you’re a natural yourself. Don’t you remember the oysters? I hardly believe that's the first time you've ever tempted anyone, although you've been tempting me unknowingly since the beginning. I thought once or twice, after you came back from one of my assignments, that I didn’t have job security anymore because of how well you did (this is a joke - you are a very good angel, the best of them, and I would tear any demon who laid hands on you apart (unless that demon is me. I’m going to lay hands on you many, many times (how many parentheticals within parentheticals is too many? (one more?)))).

I’m terribly sorry to hear that people are entering your establishment with the intent to buy the goods you’re selling. It’s an affront that we must resolve immediately. Here are some ideas I've come up with besides me transforming into a large snake (a good contender):

  * We leave a bunch of eggs around the shop to eventually rot and stink up the place. Cons: takes a couple days, it's foul and I don't want to smell it 
  * An elaborate system of mirrors placed in such a way that once you enter, it's impossible to find a way out. Nobody will buy your books, but con: eventually the entire London population will exist in the shop. The miracle to expand the space will definitely draw attention 
  * I get on my knees and suck your cock for hours up against one of the shelves right out in the open. The scandal from this one might stop people from patronizing your shop all together.



Personally I'm a fan of the last one. I miss your cock in my mouth. I miss your cunt on my face. When are these humans going to invent something useful, like a way to make a permanent image or a way for me to hear your voice when we're not together? It'd go a long way to ease the loneliness. 

I'll come up with more ideas later and pass them along. This challenge is ripe with demonic opportunities. 

Love you,  
C

Darling mine,

Thank you for the suggestions, dear. I do believe I'll wait to hear additional ideas before I act. So far I've managed to pawn off only the newest books I've bought exclusively to sell. It's been going well. 

Such filthy words, Crowley. I agree that it would be attractive to have an actual picture of you beyond an illustration or to hear your voice (this I miss above nearly all else), but we still have words and those can paint a picture in the mind just as well. They've been doing so since the beginning. 

For example, I've thought relentlessly about the image you've painted of yourself on your knees among the shelves. So much that it's developed a life of its own. If I may, I’d like to share some of my thoughts. 

You see, while I know from experience just how pleasing you look while on your knees, I've found myself rather possessive of you. The sight of your mouth around my cock would certainly hurry any potential customers away, but they do not deserve the sight that I love best. 

But still, the idea of you servicing me in my shop while a customer might enter is too tempting, so here is my proposed fantasy (feel free to touch yourself while reading this letter, dear. It would please me greatly):

I would like to tie you to one of my chairs in my back room. You look so beautiful when you’re bound, and I know you enjoy it too. The trust you place in me is intoxicating and I think you enjoy the chance to behave for once and be praised for how well you’re doing. You deserve to be praised.

The back room is out of view from the customers, but it’s still open to the shop so you must be quiet so you do not alert them of your presence. It wouldn’t do for them to discover our little game, and I cannot gag you because I need your mouth open for other things. You’ll be naked, of course, and waiting for me to use you as I please. 

Whenever I’ve finished with a customer or completed some other task, I’ll come back to you, pet your hair and tell you how good you’ve been. And then you’ll open your mouth and suck my cock. It’s one of the things you do best and it’d be a waste to not utilize your skill at every opportunity. (Stick your fingers in your mouth and suck on them, Crowley).

I wouldn’t come, though. No, not yet. I’d pull you off and tuck myself back in. Running a business is time-consuming and I couldn’t be away from my duties for long. But I would keep coming back to you, fucking myself into your perfect mouth at my leisure. How would you feel being kept as my toy, Crowley? Something for me to use for my pleasure? Remember, you must be quiet. You musn’t whimper from the loss as I pull my cock from your mouth. You musn’t groan when I fist my hand in your hair. 

But then after I close the shop, if you have been quiet and if you’ve pleased me, I’ll push myself into your mouth one last time and I’ll come down your throat. A reward for a job well done.

Of course I’ll take care of you as well, my darling demon. You’ve been so well-behaved, so accommodating of everything I ask of you as always. You indulge my every whim and I feel so spoiled by you. Thank you, darling. I love you.

I’ll untie your hands and legs and your cock must be so hard and leaking so much after being neglected all day. You know that I’ll always take care of you. I’ll work you open with my fingers, slowly, just how I know you like it (do it now, dear, don’t use a miracle). When you’re ready for me, I’ll take your cock in hand (both of your hands should be occupied now, but you’re clever and I trust you’ll find a way to keep reading this letter) and push myself into you until we’re flush against each other. 

And oh then, darling, I’ll fuck you just as you need, hard and steady with my hand stroking your slick cock. You can make noise now, darling, there’s no one around, and I want to hear you. I want to hear every moan and gasp and whine as I fuck your arse and you fuck my hand. And you’re getting so close now, I can tell by the way you arch your back and bite your lip, and I move my hand faster, faster, faster until you cry out and you’re spilling all over my hand and my wrist and your chest--

My dear, please forgive the difference in penmanship between the previous paragraph and this one. I was so overwhelmed with thoughts of you that I couldn't finish the letter and had to take care of myself immediately. It just isn't the same without your touch. 

Come home. I miss you, dear husband, dear wife. I am past patiently waiting. 

I will, of course, wait as long as it takes. 

Desperately yours,  
Aziraphale

Angel,

Jesus fucking Christ. 

It's been two days since I received your letter (if I can even call it that - a tome of depravity would be more accurate) and I haven't been able to respond until now because my hands have been thoroughly occupied with other matters. 

Wanking. I’ve been wanking absolutely non-stop and also seeing if there’s any fucking way I can get off this continent and back to England. The civil unrest here is amping up into something big and there’s not much more I can do, so if there is _any_ justice in my existence, I’ll be able to leave soon and come back to you so you can fuck me. Just fuck me anywhere, Aziraphale. In the shop, in a hotel, in the middle of the street, I don’t _care_. 

I miss your voice, too (and your cock, have I mentioned? Also your arse and your lips and your fingers and, weirdly, your knees).

Signing this with my left hand because I’ve started touching myself again,  
C

Angel,

Assignment is over. I'm coming home, seems like for good. See you in a couple weeks. 

Finally,  
C  



	12. Chapter 12

**1859**

As soon as Crowley had gotten back from South America, they were practically living in each other’s pockets again, desperate to reclaim the time they’d lost while they were away. Crowley made good on his promise to skulk and be a general nuisance to customers and sales had never been lower. He’d gotten his own place, but he spent every night at Aziraphale’s flat above the bookshop. Why bother pretending like cohabitation wasn’t what they both wanted?

Six months later, Gabriel had made a surprise visit to the shop to see how things were getting on. It had surprised both of them - Gabriel avoided Earth as often as he could unless there was something important happening, and his previous visit was just over a year prior - and Crowley had to hurriedly sneak out a window on the upper landing. 

After the archangel left, they’d both agreed that Crowley should move into his flat and that they’d need to be more careful. London wasn’t Vienna, and their superiors knew where both of them were stationed as England had become more-or-less their permanent home. The chance of a drop-in was too great and they had to adjust accordingly.

So they’d come up with secret rendezvous points all over the city, met clandestinely in restaurants and parks and museums. It was only when they went to the theatre together, hidden away in their private boxes, that they could touch again publically. There were still nights spent together, although they were fewer and farther between than either preferred.

It was an unwelcome adjustment, but it was necessary to keep them safe. Aziraphale would rather see Crowley only occasionally than never again. Would rather have to hide his feelings than condemn the one being he loved more than anything to eternal torture or a permanent death. 

They both would have occasional missions out of the country, but Heaven and Hell generally seemed to be content with keeping them in London. It hurt more knowing that Crowley was so near and yet still unavailable to him.

It had been nearly six decades and Aziraphale continually found himself at a loss about what to do. The oppressive weight of Heaven, a series of mental boxes he’d usually had such a tight lid on, had only gotten looser under Crowley’s attention. He struggled to deal with it now, didn’t want to deal with it. 

It would all just have to work. He would have to continue to meet Crowley secretly and that was the relationship they were destined to have. Chasing after Vienna, a (he truly believed) God-given reprieve from their stations in life, was a fool’s errand that would only lead to more heartbreak.

He’d just finished miracling the dust off the higher surfaces on the upper landing when the shop’s bell tinkled.

“I apologize, but we are rather closed for spring cleaning. Please come back next week,” he called down over the railing. “Not that it matters because you can’t read a clearly posted sign on the door,” he breathed to himself.

“Aziraphale!” The speed at which every muscle tensed in his body at that booming American accent was frankly astonishing.

“Oh, Gabriel. Yes, hello. Be down in a tick.”

He walked down the stairs and plastered a smile onto his face. “Gabriel, how wonderful to see you.”

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder and Aziraphale winced at the force. “How’s my favorite emissary on Earth?”

“Well, I’m really the only one, so I suppose I’m doing well. How about yourself?”

Gabriel ignored him. “Listen, Aziraphale. I’m here to talk about your performance. Less than a century ago, we wanted to offer you a promotion back to Head Office, but it was determined that you actually needed to stay here to defeat your adversary, the demon Crowley. We received… intel--" Aziraphale resisted snorting. "--that you were the only one who could put a stop to his actions. 

“However it seems like demonic activity in London has only increased since then. Now, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for that. There’s always a certain ebb and flow that Earth tends to have, and normally I’d be happy to chalk it up to that. But there’s been some _suggestion_ that I’m afraid I have to address.”

Aziraphale gave him a tight smile, trying to affect a politely confused look. 

“Have you been fraternizing with Crowley?”

He couldn’t hear anything but a high ringing and blood rushing through his ears. He felt like he’d fallen through a frozen lake, the air punched out of him and his veins turning to ice. He tried to laugh but it came out more desperately than he wanted.

“Fra-fraternizing? With a _demon_? Gabriel, please, you must know that’s--unheard of.”

Gabriel bared his teeth in a grin. “Well of course it’s unheard of. An angel and a demon consorting with each other. But you didn’t actually answer the question.”

 _Fuck_. “Absolutely not. Crowley is my adversary and a nuisance every time I encounter him.” 

Gabriel smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Aziraphale. Good to hear it. Make sure it stays that way.” He turned in a circle as he looked around the shop and Aziraphale quickly slipped his wedding ring off his finger and into his pocket. Gabriel turned back to face him and he gave another tight smile.

“Is there anything else, Gabriel? Not that I don’t enjoy our time together, but I am in the middle of cleaning the shop, making sure it’s worthy of a Heavenly Headquarters, and I’d like to finish up. It’s very dull work, cleaning.”

The archangel shook his head and made his way to the door. “No, nothing else. Let’s try to give a little more effort down here though, yes?”

Aziraphale nodded and started to close the door as Gabriel made his way down the steps. Gabriel paused.

“Just remember that there are consequences to your actions, Aziraphale.” And then he set off down the street.

Aziraphale gave himself enough time to lock the door and close every shutter before he let out a deep, shuddering, dry sob. 

They’d been so careless. So _careless_ with the most precious thing they shared. His mind raced back to every time they’d been seen together, Rome, Egypt, _Vienna_. He felt a strong wave of nausea and clutched at a bookshelf as he stumbled. 

He loved Crowley and he put him in harm’s way every time they met. He would rather endanger the love of his life than accept that an angel and a demon could never truly be lovers, could never truly be _friends_. 

No. No, it had to end. They would still have the Arrangement, he couldn’t take that away, but everything else had to go. The dinners and spending the night in each other’s bed. Every semblance of hardwon affection between them would have to be tamped down, cut off. It would destroy him completely, but it had to be done. To keep Crowley safe. 

He removed his wedding ring from his pocket and smoothed his thumb over it. He’d memorized every scale, every intricate detail of it over the years and his vision began to blur as he cried. He wiped his eyes and summoned a plain birch wood box. He placed the ring inside and as he closed the lid, he also closed all of the boxes in his mind with a “Crowley” label. He organized them neatly and tucked them away into the safest part of his heart. He would separate his romantic and professional feelings about Crowley and they would just have to learn to live with it.

He tore off a scrap of paper from his desk, wrote a note, and sent it off with a street urchin hanging around outside before he returned upstairs and continued to clean.

_They might know. Best to keep our distance. You know my feelings. -A_

* * *

**1862**

_”Fraternizing?”_

He got back to his flat and screamed until his throat was raw.

He ripped the wedding band off his left hand and hurled it at the wall, hearing a satisfying metallic twang as it ricocheted and clattered to an unknown location. He needed to destroy something. He toppled a bookcase, swept the delicate China teacups he kept for Aziraphale out of the cupboard in one smooth motion and they smashed on the hardwood floor. 

He tore Aziraphale’s favorite blanket in half and ripped the plants in the window out of their pots. He was so fucking angry and his heart was ripping in two and--

He got to their marigold, dropped his hands, and started sobbing.

He stumbled and collapsed onto the couch, tossing his sunglasses aside, and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

_Idiot. Idiot! You knew this couldn’t last. You knew he’d realize his mistake eventually. You’re so fucking clueless._

He tried to slow his shuddering sobs. He didn’t know how long it was before he finally looked up, bleary-eyed. He glanced towards his bedroom, but then got on his hands and knees, searching for his ring. 

He crawled around and finally found it underneath a small table in the corner of the room. He knelt and turned it over in his fingers to look for damage, rubbing his thumb gently against the marigold engraving. He noticed a small nick in the band and smoothed it over, repairing it to new.

He got up and walked slowly to his bed, the ring heavy in his open palm. He placed it delicately in the mahogany ring box he kept in the drawer of his bedside table. 

He changed, crawled under the covers, and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa, play "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M.


	13. Chapter 13

**1888**

Aziraphale loved becoming friends with humans. He’d sworn after the first few had wracked him with grief that human friendships weren’t worth the loss, but he found himself drawn over and over again to laughing and sharing and crying with these marvelous, flawed beings that inhabited the planet he’d called home for nearly six millennia. 

He’d learned how to parcel out and separate his feelings. He still grieved when he lost a friend, but he cherished them when they lived and celebrated them when they died.

When Frank and Carl approached him and asked him to witness their commitment ceremony, their _marriage_ , he’d been overwhelmingly touched. He was so thankful to have found so many friends at his gentlemen’s club in the past several years. They eased his own heartache with camaraderie and understanding. 

He got dressed in his very best suit and walked to Frank’s home where he was greeted graciously by some of his associates and Carl’s sisters. They mingled and drank and then sat in a mismatched assortment of chairs in the parlor waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Carl and Frank entered the room, dressed smartly in matching suits, and took their place at the front of it. A cozy, tremendous love radiated throughout the room and Aziraphale felt nearly bowled over. And then they began their vows.

Aziraphale sat and watched these two men, with bodies so similar to his and Crowley’s own, take a stand for themselves, for each other. He watched as Carl wiped a tear from Frank’s cheek, how Frank gripped onto Carl’s wrist desperately, thankfully. Tears rolled down Aziraphale’s own cheeks, elation for his friends and bitter heartbreak for his own lost love.

Crowley always said he was brave, confessed it to him in the late hours one night of their marriage, the one that counted. Aziraphale didn't know how to answer so he had kissed Crowley instead, let his hands wander, pulled him close. A _thank you_. A _you always see the best in me_. An _I don't know how to live without this, without you, anymore_. 

Crowley had said he was brave, but sitting here, he knew it was a lie. _This_ , what his two friends were doing today, was bravery. Standing together against a world that didn't understand, probably wouldn't understand in their short lifetimes, and deciding to choose happiness, choose _each other_ , anyway. Aziraphale knew the consequences for him and Crowley were heavier, mattered more than it did for Carl and Frank. But also, they weren’t. They didn’t. And Aziraphale had chosen to deny the only being who made him feel like he had a place to belong.

Crowley had said he was brave, but Aziraphale knew intimately the truth of his cowardice. 

He hadn’t heard from him in over a quarter of a century, nearly unprecedented since their Arrangement began. He knew he deserved it, deserved however much time it took for Crowley to contact him again. He couldn’t fathom how much he had hurt him, tried desperately not to think about it in quiet moments, but he was certain - well, he _hoped_ \- that Crowley would come back to him eventually.

* * *

**1976-1978**

The M25 earned him a commendation (Hell) and a vacation (Crowley) before it was even finished. 

He needed to get out of the city, out of the country preferably, and well. America was as good as anywhere to have a long overdue crisis. As long as it got him away from the gnawing hole in his heart that grew larger every time he saw Aziraphale and the angel pretended like so little had happened between them.

He sent Aziraphale a note before he left: _Going to America for awhile. I’ll send contact information as soon as I have it. Don’t hesitate to call or write if you need anything. -C_

Probably pathetic, leaving the country to get away from your ex- _whatever_ and then giving them carte blanche to talk to you. But whatever. He was pathetic.

He didn’t know what he was expecting to find in America, but he didn’t expect to find San Francisco. He didn’t expect to find the Castro.

He and Aziraphale knew how they came across to the humans at large, individually and together. They’d both been drawn to those on the fringes of society for one reason or another. Aziraphale relished in it now, found a quiet satisfaction in his softness and kindness. Crowley honestly didn’t care because he was going to act and dress as he liked and if someone had a problem with it, that was their own thing to deal with.

But even a major hub like London that had its fair share of sexual and gender minorities couldn’t touch the life and energy of the community he found on the northern Californian coast. He’d always felt at home wherever he was with Aziraphale, but this felt special too, a place he could thrive in.

He cut his hair short, kept his mustache, wore tight jeans and tight t-shirts, and sometimes tight skirts and makeup and no one batted an eye.

Getting to know people was an important part of the job, but he’d found satisfaction in it beyond that. He’d always managed to make friends, however fleeting, wherever he went. But the people here accepted him immediately, embraced him with open arms, sometimes quite literally. He had never been so physically affectionate with such a wide range of humans, and it was… nice. He’d never had sex with humans, never would, but he hadn’t realized the weight the lack of affection - touch-starved, they called it - was having on him. 

Now he hugged and kissed cheeks and sat in men’s laps as they laughed and drank. He let himself indulge because he was a demon and on vacation and he fucking deserved to feel like someone cared about him. 

Crowley would send Aziraphale postcards occasionally - a tacky “Greetings from California!” or once during December, a card with a picture of miserable, bundled up people in a snowstorm on the left with the caption “You” and then a sunny beach on the right with the caption “Me”. He hoped Aziraphale laughed when he received that one.

He’d been there two years and Aziraphale hadn’t called. He hadn’t really expected him to. Things were still hard between them, an awkward uneasiness that draped over every one of their meetups. The discussions were strictly business now, trading favors for the Arrangement, and Crowley felt like he was trapped inside himself, clawing at his heart, his throat, desperate to address this unspoken thing between them every time they saw each other. But he didn’t, because he couldn’t hear Aziraphale say that he wasn’t in love with him anymore. That the decades they spent together were lovely, but that things had changed. That maybe he’d done something to make them change.

The phone in his apartment rang at one of his weekly dinners with his best friend in America, Emily. He was still laughing as he picked up the phone and drawled “Hellooo?”

“Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley’s heart stopped and his grip threatened to crack the yellow plastic receiver. “Hey, angel.”

“Oh my god.” Crowley turned around and Emily was gaping at him, her hand pressed to her chest. He waved his hand and mouthed “It’ll only be a minute.”

“Oh, absolutely _not_ ,” she whispered and sat back against the couch, covering her mouth with her fist. She waved at him urgently with her other hand to return to the phone call.

“Hey. It’s uh. What’s up?”

Aziraphale laughed softly and oh, his heart _ached_. “I received one of your postcards today, and I realized I hadn’t called you to check in on your vacation. It seemed overdue.”

“Yeah, it’s been good. Warm. You know how much I prefer the warmth.”

Aziraphale laughed again and Crowley wished he could capture the sound safely in a jar to keep for emergencies.

“Yes, I do, you serpent. You always did like basking in some sunny spot somewhere.”

What was he doing? Were they joking around again? Were they friends again? This was going against every firm boundary Aziraphale had established between them over the last century that Crowley only abided because it was that or nothing.

“You should see how tan my skin is. It’s rivaling the time I spent in Egypt.”

“Oh, dear! You must be quite dark. I imagine your freckles are out as well.”

He glanced at his arm. “Yeah, they’re popping up everywhere. Angel, not that I’m not happy that you called, but was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone because Crowley just couldn’t leave things alone. He had to keep poking and poking and then he wondered why things blew up in his face.

“I suppose I was just curious when you were planning on coming ho--coming back to England. Please, take all the time you want, of course. This is a well-earned vacation. I just. I suppose.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and Crowley clutched the receiver closer to his ear. “I missed my best friend, is really the thing.”

Crowley let out a choked exhale before he could stop his traitorous body. Aziraphale had been so distant, so hesitant to call them anything more than adversaries or associates, that hearing his confession felt like a punch to the gut. He wanted to snap at him. Wanted to be snarky and yell and hang up the phone. But he also wanted to cry, wanted to feel Aziraphale’s arms around him as he did.

Aziraphale was giving a peace offering to this tenuous and broken thing between them, and he was going to accept it. He swallowed.

“Yeah, I. I, uh, I miss you too. I’ll be home soon. We can go to dinner and I’ll tell you all about California.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news.” He could tell Aziraphale was trying to keep his voice light, cheery, but the relief shone through and he smiled despite himself. “I should really let you go - I know you have company over now--”

“No, angel, it’s okay. I’ll--”

“I don’t want you to be rude to your guests. We’ll catch up when you come back. Yes?”

“Yeah. All right.”

“Good night, Crowley. I--” Crowley held his breath. “I’ll see you soon. Good night.” 

And then Aziraphale hung up.

He stood at the counter clutching the receiver, dial tone ringing faintly in his ear. He felt a soft touch on his elbow and he jumped.

“Hey, sorry. Are you okay?”

He placed the phone back in the cradle and turned to see Emily’s face furrowed in concern. “That was Aziraphale, right?”

He nodded. 

“I’ve never heard your voice get like that, that soft. Are you okay?”

He nodded again, but he could feel tears welling in his eyes. Satan, he hated crying in front of people. She rolled her eyes. “Come here.”

She opened her arms and he bent down to accept the hug. “You’re too fucking short,” he muttered tearfully. 

She laughed and ran her hand in soothing circles on his back. “You say that every goddamn time I hug you.”

“It’s because it’s true.” He continued to breathe and compose himself buried in her shoulder. “I need to go home,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I know.” She pulled back and pressed a quick, firm kiss to his forehead before he straightened up. “We’ll make sure to throw a huge going away party before you do. And we’ll write. And Sarah and I would obviously love to fly to England to visit and meet your angel as well.” She smiled kindly. It reached her eyes, like Aziraphale’s did. “It’s been a fucking pleasure being your friend, Anthony J. Crowley. Even if you won’t ever tell me what that goddamn J stands for.”

He laughed and stooped again, her shortness be damned, to hug her again.


	14. Chapter 14

**2013**

Aziraphale’s feelings had changed.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Crowley dress femininely in a long time. Crowley had met him at the Islamic World gallery in the British Museum with his hair down, a sharp wave gracing his forehead and a faint purple painting his lips. He waved off Aziraphale’s questioning look at his appearance saying he had been doing a final practice for Nanny and decided to keep it. 

Maybe it was the fact that they'd met up at least bi-weekly since the night Crowley delivered the Antichrist to the Dowlings. It was like old times, an excuse to meet up under the pretense of business that devolved into dinner and then drinks back at the bookshop. After he’d ended things, he was lucky if they saw each other once a year. Twice every month was a feast for his starving soul. 

Maybe it was just the realization that no matter what happened, they probably only had six years left together and he didn’t know if he could get through it without Crowley properly by his side. He didn't deserve it, not after what he did to both of them, but he wanted it. He and Crowley had always been an inevitability, able to get through anything together, so he hoped they'd be able to get through this too. 

It could have been anything, but over the past five years, every stupid box with Crowley’s name on it had flooded open and a tidal wave of love had crashed over him. He didn't want to be apart from Crowley any longer. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth what he had given up. 

Crowley squatted down to come eye to eye with a large jade turtle, his body practically folded in half, his knees up to his ears, and his face a ridiculous scrunch as he analyzed it. Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back so he didn't reach out and thread his fingers through Crowley's hair. 

Crowley looked up at him and waved in front of his face. Aziraphale shook his head slightly as he came back to himself. “Yes, dear?”

“Have you paid attention to anything I've been saying the past five minutes?”

Aziraphale ran it back and his mind was blank in his reverie. 

“Um, sorry, what were you saying?”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses and stood up in a fluid motion. “I was saying that it's going to be annoying dealing with both of our full-time schedules and still finding a way to meet up and discuss our findings without arousing suspicion from the Dowlings and the rest of the staff. How often should we even meet up anyway? Kids are unpredictable monsters. I don't know how useful a regular schedule would even be.”

“You love children.” 

Crowley muttered mockingly under his breath and Aziraphale smiled inwardly. 

He just missed Crowley. Missed their late night laughter in their bed, arms slung around each other. Missed making Crowley coffee in the morning whenever the demon deigned to grace him with his presence, hair a mess before he miracled it into place. Missed the easy trade of favors and affirmations they used to give each other so freely. 

They were both guarded, both had walls that needed to come down again. But they'd started at the top of one wall, at the beginning. They could overcome another. He was willing to try, wanted absolutely nothing more than to try. Only six more years, Lord help him. 

“Francis and Ashtoreth could be married.”

He deliberately didn't look at Crowley, didn't know if he could face his expression, but Crowley froze next to him. He plowed ahead. 

“I know it's not… _ideal_ , but realistically it's the only alone time we'll get together. I doubt our time off will align as frequently as we would need it to. It would also look suspicious if the gardener and the nanny were seen together regularly. There's no discernible reason that we should be meeting unless Warlock is playing outside.”

Crowley shoved his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. “I don't know, Aziraphale.” His voice was quiet and Aziraphale longed to squeeze his hand. 

“We would be working most of the day. Even if there's only one bedroom, you know I don't sleep so you're free to make that your own space. Living together under that pretense would lend itself to an erratic discussion schedule as well. We could talk when we need to and not when we don't.”

He hoped Crowley knew he would want to talk to him about things other than Warlock and Armageddon. He was trying to walk the line of casual and earnest that wouldn't push Crowley away. 

Crowley remained silent next to him. He finally turned to face the demon. 

“It's only six years.” _If you hate me and can never forgive me, we only have to endure this for six years. But if you still love me, please, we only have six more years._

“Yeah, okay, angel.”

* * *

**2014**

“Morning, angel.”

“Good morning, Crowley.” Aziraphale slid a cup of coffee towards him. Crowley sat down and accepted it gratefully. He leaned back in his chair, hair and makeup perfectly styled, and looked out the kitchen window as he sipped. 

It'd taken a couple of months, but they'd settled into a comfortable routine at the Dowlings. It was normal, pleasant, domestic. Crowley would get up early to attend to Warlock and Aziraphale would greet him with a good morning and a cup of coffee. They'd talk about their plans for the day or whatever else was on their minds and then leave to start work. When they returned, Aziraphale would make a small meal and Crowley would pick off of his plate. Crowley had even started making bread again, and the first time Aziraphale had walked into the cottage to the smell of freshly baked bread, it took everything he had not to kiss Crowley up against the counter. 

The evenings were spent in companionable silence or raucous laughter and then Crowley would go to bed and the cycle would begin anew. 

Aziraphale longed for more, stared at Crowley while pretending to read or would occasionally touch his hand or arm if they were walking past each other. Crowley seemed to be okay with it, he hadn't mentioned it at least, and Aziraphale was just glad that he didn't seem to hate him. 

“Big day today,” Aziraphale said after he took a sip of tea. 

Crowley huffed. “I can't believe that kid is six already. He's getting too big.”

“Wouldn't that be a good thing? To lead the armies of Hell, I mean.”

Crowley set his coffee down and pointed accusingly. “Size has nothing to do with commanding armies of the damned, Aziraphale. It has everything to do with confidence, and I am instilling that boy with plenty of that.”

“Quite right, dear. Apologies.”

They sat again quietly in thought until Crowley stood up to put his and Aziraphale's mugs in the sink. He fussed around at the counter behind Aziraphale. 

“So what are you doing with your day off? Wish I was so lucky. This birthday party is going to be a nightmare. I can handle Warlock, but a gaggle of six-year-olds? Why are they always so sticky?”

Aziraphale hummed. “I think a nice cozy read in the morning - it has been unseasonably cold lately, have you noticed? - and then when the party begins I'll obviously attend. After that, I don't know. I might see if I can have some food brought in as a treat. How late are you working?”

Crowley made a non-committal noise and continued to walk around behind Aziraphale at the counter. “Party is supposed to end at half three. I know Harriet will be expecting me to help with Warlock’s inevitable sugar tantrum. But that does mean an early bedtime so I'll probably get back around seven? We’ll see.”

“Well, I'll make sure dinner’s ready when you come home. And I'll run you a bath if you decide you need one.”

“Yeah, maybe. Oh, the roses have been looking a lot better, by the way.”

“Yes, well I live with a very knowledgeable demon who gave me some helpful tips, thank you.”

“Don't thank me. If you get sacked this whole thing is pointless.”

“Mm.”

Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and a freshly made cup of tea on the table. “Thought you'd need another one since you'll be lazing the morning away, unlike me who is still forced to labor.” 

Aziraphale beamed and looked up at him. “Oh, thank you, Crowley.” 

Crowley looked at his watch. “Right, I'm off. See you at the party.” Aziraphale tilted his head and Crowley ducked down to give Aziraphale a quick kiss and then walked toward the door. Aziraphale went back to his book and picked up the cup of tea. 

“Mind how you go.”

It took seven seconds for his mind to catch up to what just happened and he almost dropped the mug. He looked up to see Crowley frozen in the doorway, his coat half-on and staring at him too. They kept looking at each other until Crowley turned heel and slammed the door as he left. 

He placed the cup down so he didn't risk dropping it again and then covered his mouth with his hand. His lips still tingled from where Crowley kissed him.

He hadn't even noticed. He never stopped thinking about kissing Crowley and he hadn't even noticed when it happened. Had their lives become so domestic, so comfortable that they slipped into their old ways? 

Even if Crowley didn't kiss him on purpose, which his shocked reaction seemed to indicate, clearly something within him wanted to kiss Aziraphale still. He felt a surge of hope rush through him. Maybe Crowley would be amenable to reconciling if he just asked. Maybe he was waiting for permission, for Aziraphale to explicitly say that he wanted to try again. 

He pushed the tea to the side. Later in the day, he would fully lay out his feelings to Crowley and then he would have Crowley back again. 

Hopefully. He desperately hoped.

* * *

Around noon he walked across the grounds towards the inflatable castles and slides and scanned for Crowley under the large tent. He spotted him kneeling in front of Warlock, adjusting his jacket and ruffling his hair before sending him off to play. He smiled softly. Crowley really was wonderful with children.

Crowley sat down at one of the tables at the far end of the tent and Aziraphale made his way over. He sat down in the chair next to Crowley’s and before he could open his mouth, Crowley stood up and walked across to stand at the other end of the tent. Aziraphale huffed. He stood up to follow Crowley, but Crowley then walked back to the other end of the tent and hovered by Warlock’s group of friends.

This was ridiculous. Crowley was probably so good with children because he acted like one. Aziraphale sat back at the table. He would just have to wait for Crowley to sit down.

Crowley stood determinedly outside the inflatable castle while the children bounced inside for nearly an hour before Harriet announced that it was time for cake. The children scrambled out of the castle and in the commotion, Warlock tripped and sailed several feet in the air before landing with a thump on the ground. 

Aziraphale stood up suddenly, but Crowley had already rushed to his side.

“Darling boy, are you all right? Are you hurt?” He turned Warlock’s wrists gently over in his hands and brushed his hair off his forehead to check for bumps. Warlock squirmed out of his grip.

“Nanny, I’m fine! I don’t need your help!” He ran off towards Harriet and the cake. 

Crowley straightened up and looked crestfallen. He wandered back to their table and sat down in the chair next to Aziraphale and crossed his arms. He continued to watch Warlock attentively as everyone sang Happy Birthday.

Aziraphale reached out to touch his elbow and Crowley flinched and pulled away. That stung more than the near silent treatment all morning. This wasn't going quite like he'd wanted it to. 

“Dear, you know he loves you. He’s just excited for his birthday. I wouldn’t take it to heart--”

“Yes, _Francis_ , I do know that. I’m not taking anything to anything. Don’t tell me what I’m feeling.”

Crowley tightened his arms further around himself. It was so different to Crowley’s usual body language, even as Nanny, that Aziraphale was suddenly very worried that he’d misread the situation. He wouldn't know unless they _talked_ and they _owed_ that to each other by now, surely. They knew how to communicate once. They could do it again. 

“Can we talk?”

Crowley scoffed. “I’m working.”

“I know. I meant later. At home. Please, Crowley.”

Crowley sighed and tapped his fingers against his elbows where he was still clutching himself tightly. “Fine, yes. Later.” He squared his shoulders. “I have to keep an eye on Warlock.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Crowley turned his head towards him and nodded, still not looking at him directly. Aziraphale’s heart sank, but he stood up.

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“I just need some time before we talk, but I have to stay here. It’s not that--it’s not that I don’t want you around.”

Aziraphale reached out and gingerly put his hand on his shoulder. Crowley didn’t shrug him off this time and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

He squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll see you at home.”

* * *

Crowley finally came back around 7:45.

Aziraphale had been sitting on the couch since 6:30, trying desperately to concentrate on his reading and not glance at the clock every thirty seconds. He’d failed miserably. 

Crowley walked through the door and hung his coat on the rack. He looked worn out. 

“How did Warlock enjoy the rest of the party? I hope the cake didn’t affect him too much.”

“If I cared more about my job, my real job, I’d introduce sugar to Hell and we’d be able to defeat Heaven in an instant.”

“That badly?”

“Harriet and Thaddeus should be thankful that Warlock _respects_ me, because it could’ve been a lot worse.” 

Aziraphale chuckled and he closed his book and held it primly on his lap. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah. I’m going to take a shower, though. And then I just want to sit down, probably forever.” 

“I’ll be here.”

While Crowley took a shower, Aziraphale fixed him some scotch and a plate of blackberry tarts he’d taken from the party. He set them down on the small table next to Crowley’s customary armchair by the fireplace. He knelt down and lit a fire, wanting Crowley to be as comfortable as possible. 

He returned to his position on the couch. He didn’t want to take the chair next to Crowley’s in case he needed some space. His chest felt tight and his stomach fluttered and he resisted bouncing his leg nervously. He just wanted to clear the air between them, finally. They’d been sweeping things under the rug for too long. It buzzed under his skin every time they were together, threatening to spill over, to reach out and touch. 

Crowley emerged from his room with his hair still in damp curls wearing a long black satin robe. He sat in his chair and placed his bare feet on the foot stool, raising the glass of scotch to Aziraphale in thanks before taking a deep sip. He closed his eyes and flexed his long toes, rolled his slender ankles around and around as he warmed his feet by the fire. Aziraphale was captivated.

After Crowley had eaten one of the tarts, he set down his glass and sighed. “I don’t actually want to talk about what happened this morning. Ever. But I know you’re going to make us, so. Talk.”

Aziraphale scooted closer to the edge of the couch and leaned forward. He looked at his hands and worried at the ring on his pinky. He ran his touch along his bare left ring finger as well. “I suppose I was just surprised by what happened.”

Crowley sat forward and planted his feet on the ground. “We’ve been living together for a year. It was just. Falling into old habits. Don’t worry - it won’t happen again.” His chin rested on his hand, long fingers covering his mouth and his expression inscrutable.

He remembered Crowley’s lips on his, his hands on his body. He shivered. 

“I’d like it to,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley turned his head to face him. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if there were tears in his eyes or if it was just the flicker of the firelight. He felt blood rushing in his ears and bounded ahead. “Don’t you remember how… how _nice_ it felt? To… to be with each other?”

Crowley laughed humorlessly and turned back towards the fire. “I remember every single bloody moment of our _wedded bliss_ , Aziraphale.” He spat the words out and Aziraphale winced. “I also _acutely_ remember every moment of heartbreak that came after so forgive me if I’m not jumping at that opportunity again.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed and he burned with the shame of how he’d hurt Crowley. He wouldn't expect to be forgiven right away. He knew he would have to work for it, but couldn't Crowley _see_ how little time they had left? If they were just _careful_ , more careful than last time. If they could just get this right...

“It could be different this time.” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

Crowley’s jaw tightened and he turned away, his shoulders rising in deep breaths. He didn’t look at Aziraphale for several moments before facing forward again and simply saying “It can’t.”

“We--”

“It _can’t_ , Aziraphale. Whether we like it or not, whether we divert Armageddon or not, Heaven and Hell aren’t going to be happy when it all goes down. You’re not stupid - I know you know that, too. We have five years. Five years until everything comes to a head. I--”

Crowley took several sharp breaths. He dug his nails into his hands and his jaw tightened. “Vienna? St. James? They tore me _apart_ , Aziraphale. I don’t know if I’ll be able to put myself back together if it happens again. I can’t… I can’t _take_ it. If. If.” His shoulders shook and he turned his head away again. 

Aziraphale needed to fix this. There had to be some combination of words, of touch, or anything to prove that he was sincere. That he would do better. He ached to stand up and take Crowley into his arms, comfort him and kiss his face. He wanted to lay Crowley back on his bed, offer apologies and beg for forgiveness with every touch and press of his lips.

He couldn't. There was nothing. Crowley was always the one to have an unwavering faith in them - he felt dizzy, sick thinking that he had finally broken it. 

He remained seated. 

Crowley was right. As much as he dared to fantasize about their future together, it couldn’t happen. Not now. Not when their situation, their association, was so precarious. If they were caught and weren't able to raise Warlock, to mold him, they wouldn't even have a future, a home to consider. 

He pushed his feelings down. A routine exercise at this point, but it seemed like the box was getting smaller, the lid not wanting to stay shut tight.

He couldn't breathe, tried not to. His eyes welled with tears and he wiped them quickly. 

“Okay,” he said. “We can’t. You’re right. I’m sorry, dear, for pushing. Like you said. Won’t happen again.” 

Crowley took a deep shuddering breath and nodded. “Wait here.” He stood up and Aziraphale watched as he walked into his bedroom and came out several moments later with a small mahogany box. He stood in front of Aziraphale and presented it to him. 

Aziraphale took the box gingerly, inhaling softly as his fingers brushed against Crowley’s. He opened it and was surprised to find Crowley’s hammered gold wedding band, nestled safely in black velvet. He looked back up at Crowley and the demon looked like he was on the verge of breaking open and collapsing into nothingness. Aziraphale’s hands clenched.

“When--” Crowley took another deep breath, correcting himself. “ _If_ it could ever. Y’know. Be different. Real. Then you can give that back to me. But I don’t--I can’t keep--I only want to see that again if it’s forever. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak his throat was so thick. His eyes flickered between the ring and Crowley’s eyes. He swallowed and nodded, closing the box. 

Crowley hesitantly extended his arm, looking like he was second-guessing himself, before moving forward and cupping Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand. Aziraphale let out a small hitched breath, almost a sob, as he pressed his face further into his warm touch. Crowley’s thumb ran back and forth across his cheekbone, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall, and his long fingers curled briefly in his hair. His golden eyes darted across his face and Aziraphale had the distinct feeling that Crowley was memorizing everything, as if this was the last time they would see each other, as if they wouldn’t be seeing each other in the morning, for the next five years of mornings.

His gaze landed on his lips and Aziraphale longed, _ached_ , for just one final kiss before it ended. It might be the last time he would ever feel Crowley’s lips against his own. He held his breath as Crowley just barely moved forward, but then he blinked and reluctantly removed his hand from Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale felt another sob try to force its way through his lungs. 

Crowley dropped his hand and stepped back. “Good night, angel.” His voice sounded just as tight as Aziraphale’s throat felt. 

He bit the inside of his lip to keep his voice as steady as he could. “Good night, Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched his retreating figure, utterly paralyzed in his seat.

Crowley turned to give him one last look before entering his room, closing the door, and leaving Aziraphale alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter left and I promise it's happy, y'all. I promise.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! Thank you all so much for leaving comments and enjoying this fic so much. While I was writing this, I was nervous about the idea of posting it in chapters bc I wasn't sure how much people would actually care, but you've definitely shown that you do! I hope y'all like the ending ❤️
> 
> And of course, ALWAYS, thank you so much to my beta, Kaz. I absolutely wouldn't be as confident in this work as I am without your encouragement and your helpful suggestions about how to improve this. Ti voglio bene.

**2019**

There was a young woman and a book. There was an airfield base and four brave children. There was a bus stop, and a bus, and warm, shaking hands desperately clasping at other warm, shaking hands. 

There was a departure from the bus, hands that refused to let go, and then there was a short walk to a long elevator ride.

They waited, somehow, until they stepped into the elevator, and then they were kissing and it was like Crowley hadn’t felt, hadn’t breathed in over a century, since they’d last done this. It was like his whole life had been on pause and was suddenly raring into fifth gear. 

He ran his hands frantically along Aziraphale’s back, his arms, through his hair, trying to be everywhere at once. Aziraphale clung to him just as fervently, just as tightly. Crowley kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead.

“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, Aziraphale. It almost ended and I didn’t--we didn’t--please tell me this is it. Tell me this is forever. Please. Please. I love you, I love you, I love you--”

Aziraphale pushed him against the wall and crashed their lips together as the elevator continued to chime floor by floor. Crowley wrapped his leg around him and Aziraphale lifted under his thighs so he could wrap the other around him as well. Aziraphale pressed further and Crowley was ravenous, just wanted to be closer, closer, closer, merge their essences together and become one so they’d never, ever have to be apart again.

Aziraphale pressed his hand to the demon’s rapidly beating heart. “My darling, my dearest, my love, if we make it through tomorrow and if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me, then yes, this is forever. I am never giving you up again. I will stand by you through everything the rest of our lives can throw at us. I am yours, Crowley, wholly and completely. My love, just please let me prove to you how sorry I am and let me beg for forgiveness--”

Crowley grinned and ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s face, fingertips trailing down the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

Aziraphale frowned slightly. “I don’t want you to have just forgiven me, Crowley. It’s not as simple as that. I’m sure you must resent me somewhat. I want to _earn_ \--”

Crowley covered his mouth with his hand. “I did resent you. For a long time. But I still loved you, too. More than anything. I only forgave you, truly forgave you, the night I gave my ring back. I’m not being flippant with this, Aziraphale. And I have things I need to apologize for, too. But you don’t need to atone for anything. I saw that night how broken you were by us being apart. Please.” He removed his hand and kissed Aziraphale, his need growing. He spoke in between fevered kisses, not wanting to be apart for too long. “Please, for tonight, let us just love each other like we’ve needed for so long. We can talk more if we survive this. I _need_ you, angel.”

The elevator chimed to the penthouse and Crowley reluctantly made to unwrap his legs from Aziraphale’s waist, but Aziraphale stopped him roughly. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, and carried Crowley across the hall. Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck and snapped his fingers to open the door and then again to close it shut behind them.

There was a prophecy, and a plan, and laughter, and a toast. And then, finally, there was the first day of the rest of their lives.

* * *

**2020**

“Darling, it’s lunchtime, could you come in, please?”

“Coming, angel!”

Crowley walked in from the garden, removed his floppy black hat, and hung it on the hook by the kitchen door. He put his gardening gloves and sunglasses in the big front pocket of his overalls and plopped down on a chair at their dining table. Aziraphale walked over with two plates of sandwiches in his hands and hummed.

“Look at you.”

“What? Do I have dirt on my face?”

“Well, yes. But you’re just singularly captivating. I’ll never understand how such a gorgeous creature wants to be with me.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and snatched a sandwich off one of the plates and shoved it into his mouth, grinning.

Aziraphale sighed heavily and set the plates down. “Manners, Crowley.”

“Manners are for losers,” he responded around the food in his mouth. Aziraphale poured them both glasses of sweet tea from a pitcher on the table and took a bite of his own sandwich, wiping his mouth daintily with his napkin afterwards.

“The sunflowers are looking radiant. You've done such a good job with them.”

“Yeah, they're coming in nice. Just need to make sure they don't get too tall and interfere with the ivy.”

Crowley took a sip of the iced tea and looked out the window to examine the garden from afar. He needed to water the thyme when they were finished with lunch. 

“Um, Crowley?”

He looked back at Aziraphale who was sitting wringing his hands. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale scooted his chair around the table and held Crowley’s hands in his own. Crowley looked down at them. “You're making me nervous, angel.”

Aziraphale waved. “Oh no, it's nothing bad! It's just.” He took a deep breath. “The past year of our lives has been so incredible, better than any of the other ones. I've been so _happy_ and it's all because we're able to finally share our lives together, freely, without worrying about the consequences. You've given me the world, darling.”

Crowley couldn't help but run his fingers over Aziraphale's knuckles. 

“We've done this so many times, but finally we can be together as we were always meant to. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of our lives experiencing this odd, wonderful planet we've called our home for over six thousand years. This isn't as grand of a gesture as I’d originally wanted, but I'm tired of waiting.” 

Aziraphale pulled out a mahogany ring box and opened it, and Crowley choked up, tears swimming in his eyes, when he saw his gold ring shining back at him. He grabbed at Aziraphale’s hand holding the box. 

“Crowley, will you marry me? Forever, this time.”

He was fully crying now and Aziraphale was smiling nervously as if Crowley would ever, _ever_ say anything other than an enthusiastic _yes_. 

“Angel, we've been married like a dozen times.” He couldn't stop smiling. Forever, forever, _forever_. “This is--this is--yes, of course, you idiot! Of course I'll marry you!”

Aziraphale beamed and surged forward to kiss him. Crowley’s hands came up to either side of his face and he grinned, wider than he'd ever done before, and kissed Aziraphale over and over. 

Aziraphale pulled back and took the ring out of the box. “Darling, may I?”

“Yes,” he breathed and held out his hand. Aziraphale slipped the ring on his finger and they both stared down at it. 

“I actually have--” Aziraphale pulled out another box, lighter than the first, and opened it to reveal the ring Crowley had given to him all those years ago. “Could you?”

Crowley took it from him and removed the ring. He ran his fingers along the scales, hadn't realized how much he’d missed the sight of it. He placed it on Aziraphale's outstretched hand and then laced their fingers together before they kissed again. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered. “If you don't get me out of these overalls in the next three minutes, I'm gonna rescind my acceptance and you're just going to have to ask me again some other time.”

“Oh, well, we absolutely can't have that.”

Aziraphale tugged at his strap and Crowley grinned before he eagerly climbed into his lap.

* * *

They decided to have the ceremony in their cottage garden, because after all, it was quite fitting to get married in a garden. Crowley made sure it was in tip top shape with plenty of care and only a couple threats. They invited the children and Newt and Anathema. Anathema was more than happy to officiate. 

Aziraphale had hired three separate caterers and they needed to bring in an additional two tables for the amount of food that was brought in. Honeyed bread and olives from their first marriage, pastilla from their sixth, a cake covered with intricate marzipan from their ninth. They cleared a path to a small circle of chairs and Crowley had grown their single marigold into an abundance which covered a large trellis at the end of the aisle. 

Crowley took a deep breath and looked over himself in the mirror. He wore a deep burgundy suit and a tie that was patterned after his wedding cravat in Vienna. His long hair was braided loosely down his back, thanks to Anathema. 

He heard a soft knock at the door. “Crowley?”

“Yeah, come in, angel.”

Aziraphale entered the bedroom and gasped softly when he saw Crowley. “Oh, _Crowley_. You're beautiful. Oh.”

“Look who’s talking.” Aziraphale was wearing a steel blue suit that matched his eyes perfectly. His bow tie was white silk with intricate floral designs that matched his wedding dress from Vienna. 

Aziraphale blushed. “I don't know about all of that. These modern cuts--” 

“You're so handsome. You're gorgeous. I'm the luckiest demon in the whole world.”

Aziraphale smiled as he crossed the room and Crowley opened his arms. They embraced and held each other for several moments. Aziraphale tilted his head back, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

“Hi,” he whispered. 

Crowley wiped the tear away with his thumb and Aziraphale gripped onto his wrist desperately, thankfully. 

“Hey,” Crowley whispered back. 

“Should we wait to kiss until--” He checked his pocket watch. “Ten minutes from now?”

Crowley moved his thumb to swipe at Aziraphale’s bottom lip. “I'm never going to wait to kiss you ever again.” 

He held Aziraphale closer and kissed him, the angel’s lips soft and plush under his. They'd done this thousands of times, and it still made Crowley’s heart race. They were right at the end of another Before and Crowley couldn't wait for the After. They melted into each other as they held their hands between them, clutched at each other's chests, and swayed slightly. 

“Come on. It's time for us to go get married for the last time.”

Aziraphale pouted. “Oh, that's a little sad to think about. Can we still have weddings sometimes?”

Crowley laughed and led him out of the bedroom. “You just want more desserts, which you know I'm always happy to provide for you.”

“I just like getting married to you!”

“We can have vow renewals. Come along, angel.”

They picked up their bouquets (sunflowers, from the garden, and white anemones), smiled at each other again, and then walked out the door to their small circle of friends at the end of the garden. Aziraphale’s arm was warm in his and his heart sang. He couldn't stop smiling and sneaking glances at Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s radiant smile lit up the late afternoon as he snuck glances at Crowley, too. 

They stood under the golden trellis and placed their bouquets down gently on the table next to them. Anathema smiled at both of them and then she cleared her throat.

“Hello, everyone. We are gathered here today to join this angel and this demon in joyous matrimony. If everyone can come up with their cords, we’ll start with the handfasting, as you requested. If you could hold onto each other’s right hands, please.”

They extended their arms and Crowley felt Aziraphale’s thick, sturdy fingers wrap warmly around his own. 

The children and Newt formed a line and one by one, they tied their cords around their hands and wrists as Anathema spoke.

“These cords symbolize the bonds that you two have shared throughout your life. Your friendship, your love, has endured so much more than anyone else will ever have to experience, and yet you’re still standing here today, together, to join once more in a declaration of love. As your hands are bound, know that these are the hands that will forever hold you, cherish you, love you, and support you. Even when these cords are gone, you will be bound together as one.”

She took her own cord and tied it around their hands. They placed their free hands on top of their bound ones and held each other tightly.

“You both wrote your own vows. Aziraphale, do you want to go first?”

Aziraphale nodded and took a deep breath. He squeezed Crowley’s hands and Crowley squeezed back.

“Crowley, every moment of our life spent together is beyond anything I ever could have imagined when I first received my assignment here. We’ve seen everything humanity has had to offer, the good and the bad, and been marvelled by it all. I’m sure I could have enjoyed it without you by my side, but the truth of the matter is, I was lucky enough to not have to experience it alone. For what is the joy of a good meal or good wine without someone to share it with? A great symphony or piece of artwork without someone to discuss it with? You’ve been my constant companion, and even when we were apart I frequently wished I was experiencing new things with you instead. To hear your voice and your laughter and to see your face so I could know intimately the truth of your feelings and opinions on even the most inconsequential of things.

“Living without you is unfathomable. You are as essential to me as the sun and the water are to the plants in our garden. You nourish me and encourage me and sustain me, us, even in our darkest hours. Your overwhelming faith in me makes me want to become better, to prove myself worthy of that faith. Thank you for believing in me, even when no one else did. It is a joy to share my life with the person who knows my heart best. Thank you, darling, for knowing me best and for loving me because of it, not in spite of it.

“I promise to support you and encourage you. I promise to experience new things with you. I promise that I will always be by your side, no matter what happens, and I promise that my devotion to you will not waver. I promise to cherish in your joys and comfort you in your sorrows. I promise to always love you and to never stop being grateful for you, darling. I love you, Crowley. Thank you for choosing to share your life with me.”

Crowley had the distinct thought that doing this in front of people was a mistake, even if there were actually only six other people here. His eyes watered and his nose was snotty and his heart was threatening to break free from his chest. He was so loved. He loved Aziraphale so much. How was he supposed to speak when his throat was so thick with emotion?

“Shit, um.” Aziraphale gazed at him adoringly and used his free hand to hand him a handkerchief from his pocket. “Thanks.” He dabbed his eyes and tried to wipe the snot from his nose subtly. He cleared his throat.

“We _are_ choosing to spend our lives together, but I had no choice in falling in love with you. Right at the beginning you showed me who you really were: compassionate and stubborn and a bit of a bastard and always anxious to want to do the right thing. You were so different from the rest of them, and I’d hoped you would play an important part in my life. I thought about you every day we were apart and when we’d run into each other again, you’d reveal some new facet of yourself that I would fall more in love with.

“We’ve both changed so much throughout our time here, but one thing that hasn’t changed is our desire to be with each other. We’ve gone through hard times, obviously, but we’ve always made our way back to each other. Because we love each other. I’m so fucking happy that we finally made it here, Aziraphale, to a time when we can just love each other without worrying about anything else. Loving you has been the only constant I’ve had. 

“I promise to keep you safe. I promise to stand by your side. I promise to be someone you can complain to without judgment of whether that makes you a ‘good person’ or not. I promise to share in this world with you, as we always have. I promise to listen and to reassure and comfort you. You’re my best friend, Aziraphale. Thank you for loving me, too.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were red and tears were streaming down his face. Crowley passed his handkerchief back and Aziraphale laughed, accepting it gratefully and dabbing at his face.

“Adam, do you have the rings?”

“Yeah.” Adam stood up and handed Anathema the ring box. She opened it and handed each of them one of the matching slim gold bands they'd had made just for this, their final marriage. 

“Aziraphale, do you accept Crowley to be your spouse, to accept him and love him and support him for as long as you both shall live?”

Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t look away from his. “I do.” He slipped the ring onto Crowley’s finger. 

“Crowley, do you accept Aziraphale to be your spouse, to accept him and love him and support him for as long as you both shall live?”

Crowley looked over Aziraphale’s face, his upturned nose, his large ears, his laugh lines, and his round chin. His stormy eyes, crinkled in joy. 

“I do.” He placed the ring on Aziraphale’s finger. 

Anathema grinned. “I now pronounce you two married. You can kiss--”

Crowley was already cupping Aziraphale’s face, pulling him closer and kissing him. Cheers erupted around them, but Crowley barely heard it. His other arm was wrapped around Aziraphale and Aziraphale’s hand was teasing at the hair by his tattoo. They broke apart and pressed their foreheads together and smiled.

They untied their hands and then the reception began, although it was really more of an excuse to gorge themselves on wine and food while chatting with Anathema and Newt. They talked about how excited they were to take their honeymoon to Peru. Crowley rested his arm around the back of Aziraphale’s chair and Aziraphale held his other hand clasped between his.

Love hung heavy in the air and it was so thick, even Crowley could feel it. He looked at Aziraphale whose head was thrown back in laughter, at Anathema waving her wine glass around animatedly, at the children dancing and playing in the garden, and he felt, truly, finally, that this was enough. It was more than enough. 

When the sun began to set, their guests said their goodbyes and loaded up into Brian’s mom’s minivan, which she’d generously lent Anathema to bus the group to and from Tadfield.

They cleaned and packed up the remaining food with a wave of their hands and approached their home. Aziraphale stopped Crowley before he entered.

“What?”

“You carried me across the threshold after our last wedding. Let me carry you this time.” 

Crowley placed his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and _fuck_ it would never get less hot when Aziraphale picked him up like he weighed nothing. The angel carried him across the threshold and set him down gently before leading him by the hand to their living room.

He turned the record player on and wrapped his hand around Crowley’s waist, holding his hand in the other. Crowley placed his other hand at the back of Aziraphale’s neck and scratched lightly along his curls. They danced in small circles and kissed over and over as they held each other close. 

“My husband,” Aziraphale whispered. “My wife. My spouse.”

“Forever this time.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed him long and sweet. “ _Forever_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the incomparable Micah to draw something from their wedding, [and it's utterly perfect and beautiful](https://twitter.com/micahbuluhanart/status/1242062180624633856?s=21). Please follow her @micah_buluhan on IG or @_micah_lat for her NSFW stuff!


End file.
